1 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/fosterbrothertalOOhunt 


JVo.  66. 


^^^^m^^^^^^mm 


m^. 


LIBRARY  OF  SELECT  NOVELS. 


^SJ 


THE 


lii  FOSTER-BROTHER. 


a  ®ak  of 


THE  WAR  OP  CHIOZZA. 


rciTED  r.Y 


LEIGH     H  UN  T. 


U  E  ^Y  Y  0  R  K  : 
HARPER  <!i  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE, 

1864. 


^ai 


^IIR',.  JIEjSI&g 

lilBlilillilililRl^  ^         "^^^  ^'^^   WORKS   IN  THIS   SERIES  ARE 

j,v-^^^.t3^  Unabridged  and  Unaltered. 


Price  Forty  Cents. 


':^^^>;rc: 


ii|iiiiiiiiBBriii 


HARPER'S  PICTORIAL  HISTORY 

OF  -.:; 

THE   GKEAT    REBELLION 

IN 

THE  UNITED  STATES. 


Publishing  in  Numbers. — The  Fiftth  &  Sixth  now  KEAnv. 

Price  Twenty-five  Cents  Each. 

The  work  will  be  issued  in  Numbers,  as  rapidly  as  is  consistent  with  thorough  and  careful 
preparation.     The  Publishers  hope  to  be  able  to  issue  two  Numbers  eaeli  month. 

Each  Number  will  contain  24  pages,  of  the  size  of  Harper's  Weekly,  profusely  illustrated,  and 
printed  in  the  best  manner,  from  large  and  legible  type.  "'' 

The  price  of  each  Number,  containing  matter  equivalent  to  an  ordinary  volume,  will  be 
Twenty-five  Cents. 

Four  Numbers  (Nos.  I.,  II.,  III.,  and  IV.)  will  be  sent  by  m&Tii,  post-paid,  iipon  the  receipt 
of  One  Dollar. 

Booksellers,  News  Dealers,  and  Canvassing  Agents  will  be  supplied  on  the  most  liberal  terms. 


Notices  of  the  Press. 


This  is  one  of  the  great  enterprises  of  the  day.  The 
value  of  the  w-ork  becomes  more  apparent  as  the  numbers 
advance.  The  historical  matter  is  really  valuable;  tlie 
sketche*  of  individuals  and  incidents  are  admirably  drawn, 
not  only  by  the  pen  of  the  historian,  but  by  the  pencil  of 
the  artist ;  and  both  combined  will  make,  when  bound, 
one  of  the  marked  histories  of  this  war,  if  not  the  great 
history  of  the  war.  Tliere  are  official  documents  on  every 
pape,  at  the  bottom,  ivhich  add  much  to  the  value  of  the 
work.  It  will  be  found  on  the  centre  tables  of  thousands 
of  tiir  countrymen. — Ooslon  Post. 

A  careful,  comprehensive,  minute,  and  gi'aphic  record 
of  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  war ;  and  in  the  size  and 
bcanty  of  its  pages  and  paper,  in  the  profuseness,  costli- 
ness, elegance,  and  completeness  of  its  illustrations,  far  ex- 
ceeding any  other  history  yet  attempted. — y.  Y.  Observer. 

This  long-expected  serial  has  made  its  appearance,  and 
no  one  will  regret  having  waited  for  it,  for  it  bears  un- 
mistakable evidence  of  having  bec-n  prepared  with  great 
ca)-e.  We  congratulate  the  publishers  upon  their  emi- 
nently successful  commencement  of  so  important  a  work. 
— .V.  r.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

It  \i  edited  by  an  accomplished  scholar,  a  gentleman 
who  occupies  a  good  position  for  the  collection  of  material, 
and  one  who  wields  a  vigorous  pen.  He  writes  with 
strength  and  great  spirit.  It  promises  to  be  a  very  valu- 
able as  well  as  a  very  interesting  book — one  to  which  the 
eye  of  the  child  will  turn  for  the  illustrafions  of  scents 
with  the  names  of  which  his  young  eyes  have  becomo 
eadly  familiar;  and  thi;  eye  of  the  older  reader  will  be 
attracted  by  the  careful,  studious,  and  conscientious  man- 
ner in  wliicli  the  editor  prepares  Ins  historical  matter. — 
..V.  Y .  Journal  of  Commerce. 

We  speak  confidently  in  praise  of  the  manner  in  which 
the  work  is  brmtghl  out.  *  *  This  narrative,  embellished 
by  thf  picturesque  illustrations,  affords  an  interesting 
commentary  on  the  war,  and  will  be  of  priceless  value  for 
preset  vation fSosfon  A  dve.rtiser. 

In  entrusting  the  composition  of  this  work  to  an  expe- 
rienced and  intelligent  scholar,  whose  labors  both  as  a 
critic  ill  the  higher  walks  of  literature  and  art  and  a 
journalist  have  given  no  small  weight  of  authority  to  the 
productions  of  hiS  pen,  the  publishers  have  adopted  the 
wl-e-t  course  to  secure  its  accuracy,  artistic  construction, 
and  popular  success. 

The  writer  judiciously  combines  the  spirit  of  philosoph- 
ical reflection  with  a  vivid  and  pictureaqus  delineation  of 


facts.  His  style  is  at  once  lively  and  polished,  and  every 
page  gives  evidence  of  careful  study  and  preparation.  A9 
a  specimen  of  his  skill  in  character-drawing,  we  extract 
the  aptly  colored  portrait  of  Jeff'erson  D^vis.  •  •  JN'.  Y. 
Ti  ibune. 

The  work  will  always  be  valuable  for  the  original  docu- 
ments embraced  within  it,  and  attractive  for  its  illustra. 
tions. — Urooklyn  Eagle. 

Tlie  enterprise  of  the  Messrs.  Harper  will  certainly 
prosper.  Their  Pictorial  Histor;/,  simply  written  and 
profusely  illustrated,  will,  we  jndge,  be  eagerly  sought  for 
by  the  Kortheru  people Albion. 

A  careful,  comprehensive,  graphic,  and  minute  record 
of  the  oiigin  and  progress  of  the  war,  and  in  the  profuse- 
ness, costliness,  elegance,  and  completeness  of  its  illustra- 
tions, far  exceeding  any  other  historv  yet  attempted. — 
Christian  Times. 

We  have  read  the  two  numbers  of  ihls  important  work 
with  great  pleasure.  They  present  the  most  intelligible, 
graphic,  and  impartial  account  of  the  events  theV  detail, 
w-hich  we  have  yet  read,  and  we  have  read  a  gvM  deal. 
The  documentary  parts  are  thrown  into  notes.  'J'he  illus- 
trations are  many,  and  very  good.  To  the  accuracy  of  a 
number  of  the  likenesses  we  can  testify,  as  we  have  seen 
the  men The  Lutheran.  -■ — 

Hurrah  for  the  Harpers  1  They  have  started  another 
splendid  publication  for  the  people,  and  such  a  one  as  is 
needed — a  large,  handsomely  printed  and  beautifully  il- 
lustrated serial,  which,  for  the  amount  of  matter  given, 
the  style  in  which  it  is  issued,  and  the  quality  of  paper  on 
which  it  is  printed,  is  most  surprisingly  cheap — twenty- 
five  cents  a  number.  The  serial  will  be  one  that  will  be 
popular  with  the  whole  public.  The  portraits  in  the  first 
numbers  are  portraits,  as  those  who  ever  saw  the  origi- 
nals will  recognize,  and  not  caricatures,  as  is  often  the 
case  in  cheap  illustrated  works —  Boston  Coviinercial 
Ditlletin. 

Profusely  and  graphically  illustrated.  It  is  altogether 
the  rhost  popular  thing  of  the  kind  that  is  now  before  the 
public.  The  facilities  of  the  publishers  for  carrying  for- 
ward such  an  enterprise  are  unbounded.  —  Philadelphia 
Christian  Chrovich. 

Kxecuted  in  the  hl^liest  style.  No  expense,  it  is  evident, 
has  been  spared  to  make  the  work  attractive  and  instruct- 
ive. It  furnislics  the  best  history  of  the  times  that  we 
have  seen  — Pittsburg  Christian  Advocate. 


fW  Any  Number  of  the  above  Work  sent  by  Mail  (any  distance  in  the  United  States  nnder  15Q0  miles),  on  receipt 

of  Twenty-five  Cents. 


THE 


FOSTER-BROTHER. 


%  ®ale 


THE  ¥AR  OF  CHIOZZA. 


EDITED   BY 


LEIGH   HUNT. 


L  T/rvi,   ffu^i- 


~f^#/^^/^^/ 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

3  2  9     &    3  3  1     PEARL    STREET, 

FHANKMN    SQUARE. 

1S71. 


'"• 


INTRODUCTION    BY    THE    EDITOR. 


This  novel  being  the  production  of  a 
writer  whose  name  has  hitherto  scarcely 
.  transpired,  the  publisher  is  of  opinion,  that 
g-i'.n  introduction  of  it  to  the  public  by  one 
^  who  has  been  longer  before  them,  may 
;2  serve  to  procure  it  the  speedier  attention, 
c      Thinking  what  I  do  of  its  merits,  and 
the   writer   being   one   of  my   sons,   the 
reader  will  conceive  how  willingly  I  have 
fallen  in  with  a  suggestion  having  such  an 
object;  though  at  the  same  time  I  must  own 
that  I  felt  myself  to  be  in  a  delicate  posi- 
tion, with  regard  both  to  the  Heedlessness 
of  my  good  word  in  the  long  run,  and  the 
suspicions  to  which  fatherly  commenda- 
tions are  liable.     In  reflecting,  however, 
that  my  introduction  is  of  necessity  ad- 
dressed chiefly  to  critical  readers,  I  con- 
cluded that  they  would  give  me  their  best 

oo  construction.     Assuredly  the  new  writer 

CO  •' 

a>  neither  expected  any  such  recommenda- 
Q  tion,  nor  intended,  in  the  first  instance,  to 
-H  have  his  name  disclosed.     He  is  not,  in- 
cjD  deed,  a  new  writer  at  all,  except  as  far  as 
5  regards  this  class  of  composition,  and  the 
involuntary  appearance  of  the  name.     He 
has  written  anonymou  ily  for  several  years, 
with  tlie  approbation  of  the  best  judges  in 
the  metropolis ;  and  (to  make  use,  in  all 
modesty,  of  a  saying  of  Johnson's  respect- 
ing  Goldsmith)   lias  no   more   necessity, 
with  those  that  know  him,  of  coming  to 
me  for  help,  in  any  one  respect,  than  he 
has  to  be  "  fed  with  a  spoon."     Still  he 
does  not  hold  himself  superior  to  the  plea- 
sure or  the  advantage  of  having  his    fa- 
ther's good  opinion. 

•I  confess  1  think  so  well  of  the  "  Foster 
Brother,"  that  I  do  not  hesitate  to  mention 
a  circumstance  wliich  might  otherwise 
have  told  against  it ;  at  least  with  such  as 
are  accustomed  to  confound  rapidity  of  ex- 
ecution with  badness  of  it;  and  this  is, 
hat  it   was  composed  at  hasty,  though 


earnest  intervals,  during  a  pressure  of 
work  already  too  much  for  tlie  writer's 
health,  and  only  carried  to  that  extreme 
from  a  sense  of  duty. 

I  am  much  mistaken,  if  the  habit  of  a 
principle  of  this  kind  will  not  be  recogni- 
zed by  the  reader  as  originating  some  of 
the  best  things  in  the  book  ;  which,  to  sum 
up  my  general  idea  of  them  (for  I  am  sen- 
sible that  it  does  not  become  me  to  enter 
much  into  particulars)  appears  to  me  to 
consist  of  the  heartiest  male  characters, 
such  as  Zeno,  Luigi  II  Grasso,  and  the 
Englishman  ;  of  the  highly  graphic  nature 
of  the  descriptions,  whether  of  scenes  or 
persons,  executed  with  all  the  breadth  as 
well  as  minuteness  of  a  painter ,  and  above 
all,  of  the  development  of  the  graver  ele- 
ments of  the  passion  of  love,  truly  so  call- 
ed ;  that  is  to  say,  love  founded  on  real  oi 
supposed  goodness  in  the  object,  felt  in 
proportion  to  the  existence  of  the  like 
worthiness  in  the  person  loving,  and  su- 
perior to  all  the  chances,  whether  con- 
ventional or  otherwise,  of  being  confound- 
ed with  what  it  is  not. 

I  cannot  conceive  anything  finer  or 
more  complete  in  this  way,  than  the  char- 
acters of  Arduino's  daughter  and  Morosi- 
ni's  son,  of  the  younger  Carrara,  and  the 
noble  peasant  girl  Rosa  Bardossi,  my  (I 
beg  leave  to  say)  favorite.  All  the  scenes 
in  which  the  aff'ections  of  these  individu- 
als are  concerned,'  I  hold  to  be  master- 
pieces ;  and  no  less  such,  of  another  kind, 
is  the  conveyance  of  the  Venetian  ship  to 
the  Greek  island,  by  the  undaunted  Eng- 
lishman. 

The  lesser  "  Queen  of  the  Sea,"  and  the 
imaginative,  and  therefore  comparatively 
fluctuating  nature  of  Italian  courage,  are 
there  made  to  give  way,  thougli  in  the 
handsomest  and  most  honorable  manner, 
to  that  inflexible  Saxon  perseverance,  the 


\  "04  *Jli 


iv  INTROl/ 

veiy  pastimes  of  whicJi,  to  'lus  day,  are 
parta.ven  by  a  young  English  queen,  in  the 
excursions  which  she  makes  out  to  sea, 
at  the  head  of  her  mariners. 

I  hold  also  that  nothing  can  be  truer  to 
nature,  or  better  executed,  than  the  closing 
selfishness  of  Morosini's  career,  his  sacri- 
fice of  his  daughter's  happiness,  and  the 
unexpected  catastrophe  it  brings  on  our 
disgusted  countryman.  Truthfulness,  in- 
deed, and  passion,  appear  to  me  to  char- 
acterize the  whole  work. 

To  prove,  however,  to  the  reader  (till 
hf!  looks  into  the  work  for  himself)  that  it 
is  no  mere  fatherly  partiality  which  makes 
me  thus  speak  of  it,  I  shall  add,  that  the 
antique  coloring  occasionally  given  to  its 
phraseology  seems  too  little  of  a  piece 
with  the  rest  of  it ;  that  the  introduction  in 
English  words,  of  Italian  idioms,  however 
confined  to  colloquial  occasions,  and  true 
to  the  fact  in  one  :espect,  defeats  its  own 


purpose  in  another,  being  not  the  simple 
presentation  of  one  language,  but  the  con- 
fusion of  two  ;  and  that  I  would  rather 
have  had  less  of  the  history  and  politics 
of  Venice,  and  more  of  its  private  life. 
But  the  author  tells  me,  that  should  his 
first  novel  be  indulgently  received,  he 
hopes  to  follow  it  with  another,  entirely 
of  a  domestic  nature,  and  upon  Englisli 
life. 

Pleased  to  have  had  this  opportunity  of  in- 
troducing to  the  reader,  in  Thornton  Hunt, 
another  of  that  family-name  who  has  the 
welfare  of  his  species  at  heart,  and  trust- 
ing at  all  events  that  no  defect  in  the 
manner  of  the  introduction  will  be  allowed 
to  operate  to  its  disadvantage,  I  have  the 
lienor  to  be  the  public's  old  and  faithful 
servant, 

LEIGH  HUNT. 

Kensington,  July  24. 


THE  FOISTER  BROTHER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  sea  breeze  blew  chill  into  the  wide, 
dark  hall  of  the  palace  Alberti,  one  of  the  oldest 
in  Venice.  Two  torches,  whose  weary  holders 
shifted  them  from  hand  to  hand,  threw  a  heavy 
glare  on  the  walls  in  one  corner,  but  left  the 
rest  of  the  hall  in  gloom  scarcely  broken.  The 
glow  fell  full  on  the  faces  of  the  two  men, 
whose  big  beards  and  swarthy  skin  belied  their 
trim  vests  and  well-fitting  hose,  and  bespoke 
them  rather  soldiers  of  some  roving  band  than 
the  lackeys  their  dress  betokened.  Behind 
them  stood  a  row  of  other  men  of  a  similar 
stamp,  mingled  with  boatmen,  who  also  looked 
as  if  they  would  have  been  freer  in  the  loose  vest 
of  their  craft,  with  arms  and  legs  bare  to  the 
elbows  and  the  knees,  than  in  the  liveries  they 
now  wore.  A  little  removed  from  the  light  of 
the  torches,  and  nearer  to  the  door  in  the 
centre  of  the  hall,  opposite  to  the  one  that 
opened  upon  the  canal  before  the  house,  saun- 
tered three  more  servants,  of  less  equivocal 
exterior.  Their  tongues  were  still,  which 
alone  would  have  told  that  they  awaited  some 
doubtful  adventure — some  fees  to  be  won  or 
lost.  A  hoarse  murmur  mingled  with  the  glow 
of  the  torches  :  the  stifled  gossip  and  jesting  of 
the  careless  band  in  the  corner.  Suddenly  it 
ceased,  and  the  sound  of  many  feet  was  heard 
on  the  other  side  of  the  great  doors  :  they  were 
flung  open,  and  a  blaze  of  light  poured  forth, 
blinding  the  lackeys  as  they  fell  into  a  posture 
of  vigilant  and  resigned  attendance,  and  start- 
ing the  pillars  and  copings  of  the  hall  into  vivid 
relief  After  a  few  men  and  boys,  bearing 
flambeaux  and  candles,  came  a  party  of  gentle- 
men, in  easy,  laughing  chat,  but  keeping  some- 
what on  either  side,  as  v^ho  should  make  clear 
the  way  for  their  betters.  Vests  of  silk  or 
velvet,  flaming  with  gold  and  budding  with 
slashes,  to  show  the  white  or  gay  lining  under- 
neath ;  hose,  of  colors  chosen  at  the  fancy  of 
the  wearer,  and  fitting  the  leg  from  the  hip  to 
ilie  shoe,  or  cased  in  the  upper  part  with  looser 
trunks ;  small  caps,  of  various  makes  and 
colors,  with  or  without  a  falling  fold  or  hood, 
and  jewels  in  the  fastenings  of  the  dresses, 
shone  all  rich  and  glowing  under  the  strong 
light.  Then  came  some  three  or  four  more 
gentlemen,  whereof  one  or  two  wore  the  red 
herret  and  robe  of  the  senate.  Behind  them 
walked  a  man  whose  aspect,  though  little  to 
lie  admired,  at  once  arrested  attention,  lie 
was  of  uunsual  height;  his  face  was  pale, 
solemn,  and  aOstcre ;  his  aquiline  features, 
sharp  and  peaked,  were  wrinkled  with  an 
expression  of  peevish  pride  ;  his  eyes,  of  a  full 
gray,  were  glassy  and  unmeaning,  the  red  lids 
giving  them  a  look  of  weakness  ;  yet  the  short 


black  eyelashes  imparted  something  like  a 
noble  fierceness  to  his  fixed  gaze  forward. 
His  small  head  was  covered  by  the  red  cap  of 
the  senator,  not  unlike  the  lid  of  a  flat,  round 
box,  with  a  fold  of  velvet  hanging  rather  behind 
and  on  one  side  ;  beneath  it  scarcely  showed 
the  grizzled  hair  retreating  from  the  forehead, 
cut  close,  to  conceal  its  ragged  scantiness,  and 
for  the  same  reason  his  thin,  straggling  beard 
was  clipped  as  close  as  might  be.  His  uplifted 
face  drew  out  to  its  full  length  a  slender, 
sinewy  neck,  which  tapered  from  shoulders  so 
broad  and  lean,  that  profane  gibers  compared 
him  to  a  cross  dressed  in  the  old  clothes  of  a 
gentleman.  And  in  truth,  his  red  cloak,  grown 
brown  with  age  and  careless  wear,  black  vest, 
and  shirt  scarce  shown,  looked  as  though  they 
had  learned  to  cling  to  his  form  from  long  use. 
Beneath  his  vest's  skirt  strode  two  legs,  whose 
length  seemed  to  enfeeble  them,  and  his  gray 
hose  flowed  in  slender  wrinkles  to  flat,  spread- 
ing feet,  that  clapped  on  the  ground  as  he 
walked.  Yet  was  there  vigor  and  muscle  in 
that  tall  frame,  doubly  strengthened  by  pride, 
which  scorned  the  earth  he  trod ;  a  pride 
which  the  most  illustrious  Marco  Morosini  drew 
through  a  long  line  of  noble  and  ducal  ances- 
tors from  the  origin  of  Venice. 

By  his  side,  and  rather  in  front  of  him, 
walked  a  man  not  less  remarkable ;  a  being 
built  on  the  same  plan,  but  with  all  the  details 
filled  out  differently.  The  high  head  of  Ales- 
sandro  Padovano  was  thickly  clothed  in  black 
wiry  hair,  shorn  like  his  lord's  :  his  capacious 
forehead  stood  abroad,  and  frowned  defiance 
at  the  whole  world.  His  manly  features  mock- 
ed with  a  strange  resemblance  the  other's 
sharp  face  ;  his  dark  gray  eyes  glowed  with 
lawless  fires  under  a  stern  cold  stare  ;  his  solid 
beard  cut  short  displayed  a  neck  like  a  doric 
column ;  and  his  herculean  trunk  rested  on 
hips  so  compact,  and  limbs  of  such  gigantic 
proportions,  that  it  was  marvellous  to  see  how 
active  lightness  combined  with  ponderous 
strength.  As  he  stalked  stride  for  stride  with 
his  double,  he  looked  like  a  walking  portrait  of 
what  the  other  ought  to  have  been.  The  Mo- 
rosini called  Alessandro  his  foster  brother,  but 
all  Venice  called  him  a  brother  of  another  sort ; 
saying  that  Marco's  sickly  mother  was  neg- 
lected even  in  the  honeymoon,  for  the  lusty 
peasant  girl  of  the  main  land  who  suckled 
Marco  with  his  half  brother ;  and  nature  her- 
self stamped  the  scandal  with  truth. 

The  party  were  crossing  the  hall  when  one 
of  the  lackeys  in  waiting,  stepped  forward, 
cap  in  hand,  and  bowing  humbly  to  arrest  the 
steps  of  the  gentlemen  in  advance,  passed  them 
to  Morosini;  who  stopped,  and  gazed  on  him. 

"May  it  please  your  lordship,"  said  the  man. 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


"  the  boats  are  at  tlie  other  side,  through  the  calle, 
out  at  this  door,  if  you  will  deign  to  go  that  way." 

"How  now!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  other 
gentlemen,  stepping  back,  (it  was  Albert!  him- 
self,) "  why  should  these  noble  gentlemen  walk 
down  a  dark  and  narrow  by-lane,  when  their 
boats  may  come  in  front  herel" 

"  May  it  please  your  excellency,"  answered 
the  man  with  prostrate  humility,  "  there  is  a 
boatman  fallen  into  the  canal — they  seek  his 
'.)ody,  and  would  have  none  pass  for  a  while." 

"  Eh  !  let  the  boats  be  brought.  1  will  not 
have  my  house — " 

"  Noble  sir,"  said  Alessandro  gravely,  "  my 
good  lord  would  most  of  all  grieve  if  his  pro- 
gress did  even  the  smallest  hurt  to  the  people 
of  his  Venice,  and  especially  if  it  prevented 
the  recovery  of  one  single  Venetian."  He 
looked  at  Morosini,  \rho  replied  by  turning  to 
.\lberti,  and  saying,  "  my  noble  friend,  we  will 
walk  by  the  calle." 

The  party  now  turned  to  a  side  door  in  the 
hall,  which  led  into  the  narrow  lane.  The 
torch  bearers  were  outside  ;  the  boatmen  dis- 
appeared down  the  dark  calle  ;  the  guests  took 
leave  of  their  hosts,  and  v/ere  soon  walking 
along  the  lane  in  a  lengthened  file,  Morosini 
and  his  brother  bringing  up  the  rear.  As  the 
slight  lessening  of  the  darkness  and  freshening 
of  the  breeze  showed  that  they  approached  the 
canal  at  the  opposite  end,  the  pavement  be- 
came very  rugged  and  uneven.  "  Mind,  sirs," 
said  the  spokesman  lackey,  "  they  have  been 
repairing  the  path,  and  you  will  fall :  stay,  I 
will  hold  the  light  to  the  ground."  The  guests 
stepped  cautiously  on,  each  allowing  his  com- 
panion to  get  well  in  advance,  that  he  might 
pick  his  way  the  better.  The  heavy  sounds  of 
teet  as  they  jumped  one  by  one  into  the  boats, 
began  to  be  heard,  and  "  good  night,  Morosini," 
"good  night,  Tiepolo,"  "good  night,  Arduini," 
and  other  farewells  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
Morosini  still  stalked  on  in  silence,  allowing 
his  people  to  guide  him  to  his  gondola  without 
any  vulgar  vigilance.  The  subservient  lackey 
almost  burned  his  robe  with  the  torch  in  en- 
deavoring to  illuminate  each  particular  stone 
for  the  noble  footstep  ;  when  suddenly  they 
were  in  utter  darkness.  A  stumble  had  driven 
the  torch  into  the  very  earth.  The  small 
party  remaining  on  shore  halted.  "  How  now, 
Nadale  !— idiot ! — dolt !"  cried  a  loud  voice,  as 
another  servant  drove  away  his  blimdering 
feUow  :  "  will  my  lord  let  me  guide  him — will 
my  lord  take  his  servant's  handl"  The  voice 
was  a  stranger's  ;  but  sooth  to  say,  Morosini 
felt  cold,  and  was  anxious  to  be  home  ;  his 
brother  made  no  demur ;  and  so  he  took  the 
hand  which  touched  his  in  the  dark.  He  was 
led  down  the  steps  into  the  boat,  and  then  a 
large  cloak  was  flung  over  his  head,  and  fell 
around  him  in  tangled,  and  still  entangling 
folds.  His  hand  went  to  his  sword  hilt,  and 
there  it  was  pinioned ;  his  voice  called  aloud, 
but  the  sound  was  driven  down  his  throat  with 
a  large  mouthful  of  the  cloak  that  served  for  a 
gag.  One  short  struggle,  and  he  relinquished 
the  undignified  and  bootless  contest,  and  lay 
motionless.  The  boat  had  already  pushed  off', 
and  on  it  went — on  and  on,  with  a  steady 
measured  pull  of  the  oars,  as  if  the  boatmen 
Uad    a    h)ng    task    before   them.      Morosini's 


twisted  sword  arm  was  very  uncomfortabJe, 
and  the  cloak  in  his  mouth  was  a  very  o\>- 
pressive  supper.  He  tried  to  mend  his  posture, 
when  a  voice  said  lowly  at  his  ear,  "  if  you  stir 
not,  I  will  uncover  your  face  and  loosen  your 
limbs."  He  nodded— the  cool  night  breeze 
visited  his  stifled  nostrils,  and  the  stars  shone 
overhead.  The  round  opening  in  the  folds  oi 
the  cloak  just  admitted  a  circle  of  the  heavens, 
and  the  view  of  the  living  shadow  of  a  man's 
face,  big-capped,  big-nosed,  big-bearded,  and 
stedfast  as  a  picture.  For  some  half  hour 
Morosini  debated  with  himself  whether  or  not 
he  should  try  to  tamper  with  that  imperturbable 
shadow  ;  but  the  appearance  of  settled  plan 
made  him  believe  it  hopeless  ;  while  he  indis- 
tinctly felt  that  he  was  surrounded  by  otliers 
ready  to  gag  and  bind  him  again.  So  he  gazed 
on  the  few  stars  witliin  his  scope,  until  the 
fixing  of  his  eyes,  and  the  fanning  of  the 
breeze,  pressed  down  his  eyelids  with  irresist- 
ible, leaden  sleep. 

He  was  awakened  by  being  lifted  from  tlie 
boat ;  too  heavy  with  sleep  to  think  of  resist- 
ance, even  if  his  numbed  limbs  had  permitted 
it ;  and  he  was  borne  by  the  steady  tramp  of 
many  feet  into  a  building,  of  which  he  could 
see  too  little  to  know  its  character  ;  but  he 
guessed  it,  from  its  massy  and  solid  structure, 
to  be  of  a  military  kind  Entering  by  a  small 
door,  he  was  borne  along  a  dark  passage,  and 
up  some  steps,  into  a  chamber.;  where  they 
laid  him  on  a  bed.  He  preserved  a  sullen 
silence,  while  the  bearded  soldiers,  by  whons 
he  now  saw  hinaself  surrounded,  unfolded  his 
cloak,  and  left  his  cramped  limbs  at  liberty. 
The  senator  had  made  up  his  mind  to  await 
the  event,  whatever  it  might  be,  rather  than 
commit  himself  to  any  undignified  position,  by 
taking  an  active,  and  perhaps  defeated,  part. 
The  men  retired  from  the  room.  A  long  time 
he  lay,  half  thinking  half  dozing,  when  he  was 
startled  by  a  soft  voice  close  to  his  ear:  a 
young  girl  was  offering  him  food  and  wine, 
which  she  had  noiselessly  placed  on  a  tabic 
near  the  bed  ;  and  without  waiting  for  a  reply, 
she  withdrew  as  unexpectedly  as  she  appeared. 
Morosini  was  now  effectually  roused  :  the  warm 
air  of  the  chamber  had  restored  life  to  his 
limbs  ;  his  fasting  voyage  had  made  him  hun- 
gry ;  and  slowly  rising,  after  due  deliberation, 
and  a  more  careful  examination  of  the  tempting 
viands,— the  smoking  dish  of  meat,  disguisdl 
in  all  the  mystery  of  the  cooking  art,  the  fiiic 
bread,  luscious  fruit,  conserves,  and  sparkling 
wine,  displayed  in  choicest  silver  and  Venetian 
glass — he  fell  to.  Appetite  allayed,  a  glance 
round  his  prison  amused  him  in  the  intervals 
of  feeding.  It  was  a  small  room,  sueh  as  might 
be  found  in  the  turret  of  a  fortress,  somewhat 
crowded  with  handsome  furniture,  and  too 
much  filled  up  \vith  hangings  for  the  summer 
season.  The  small  window  looked  on  the  sea 
beach  and  a  bare  waste  of  water.  To  his  sus- 
picious eye  every  needless  curtain  seemed  to 
conceal  a  door.  The  meal  was  soon  over ;  the 
gazing  on  the  vi'alls  and  moveless  furniture 
became  a  tedious  pastime,  and  he  rose  to  makie 
a  closer  scrutiny.  On  the  other  side  of  his  bed 
he  discovered  an  open  door.  He  passed  through 
it ;  and  found  himself  in  another  small  chant- 
tier,  bare  of  furniture,  with  another  door,  also 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


open.  Resigning  himself  to  the  decrees  of 
fate,  he  walked  on  ;  and  seeing  a  narrow  flight 
of  steps,  he  ascended;  though  not  unconscious 
that  an  enemy  at  the  top  of  the  steep  stairs 
would  be  resistless.  None  appeared ;  but  as 
he  slowly  passed  up,  he  heard  a  murmur  as  of 
one  reading  aloud.  A  narrow  door  at  the  top 
of  the  steps,  brought  him  into  a  small  chamber, 
like  those  below,  somewhat  scantily  furnished. 
Opposite  to  the  door  by  which  he  entered,  was 
a  large  picture  of  the  Annunciation.  Sitting 
near  the  small  window,  at  a  table  on  which 
were  books  and  writing  materials,  was  a  man, 
whose  large  brown  gown  and  corded  waist, 
betokened  a  Franciscan  friar.  As  Morosini 
entered,  he  left  off  reading,  and  regarded  the 
intruder  with  an  air  of  surprise  ;  and  assuming 
a  manner  betwixt  indignation  and  benign  hu- 
mility, he  said,  "  How  long,  sir — for  I  presume 
I  address  the  master  of  this  my  prison — am  I 
to  remain  a  prisoner,  guessing  only  at  the 
unrighteous  cause  of  my  restraint  V 

For  an  instant  Morosini  knew  not  how  to  re- 
ply ;  but  presently  he  answered,  "  In  me,  good 
father,  you  behold  a  prisoner  no  less  than  your- 
self; now  thinking  worse  of  mykidnappers,  since 
their  hands  violate  the  sanctity  of  holy  persons. 
But  perhaps  you  know  who  is  our  detainer  V 

"  I  crave  your  pardon,  my  son,  for  condemn- 
ing where  I  should  have  pitied.  No,  I  do  not 
know,  though  I  guess  who  is  the  bold  man  that 
can  bend  crowned  heads  and  holy  hands  to  his 
ambition." 

A  light  broke  on  Morosini.  His  sallow  face 
paled,  and  his  brow  contracted  as  he  exclaimed, 
"  You  mean  Francesco  da  Carrara  V 

"  The  same.  Thou  and  I  are  under  his  eagle 
grasp ;  /,  with  small  hope,  for  who  will  miss 
the  poor  friar  from  the  crowd  ]  But  what  must 
be  the  audacity  of  that  man  that  can  thus  seize 
one  of  the  lords  of  Venice;  for  I  cannot  mis- 
take your  tongue  and  mien." 

Morosini  bowed.  "  Giovanni  da  Carrara 
could  tell  you  from  his  prison  how  his  nephew 
respects  either  piety  or  loyalty.  But  possibly 
he  may  repent  this  blow  at  Venice.  You  said 
you  guessed  his  motives :  might  a  fellow  prison- 
er, not  unused  to  secresy  of  councils,  share 
your  confidence  1" 

"  Is  it  possible,  my  son,  that  report  has  not 
told  you  of  thfi  immediate  purpose  of  Carrara  1" 

"  I  know,  of  course,  that  he  harbors  anger 
against  Venice;  I  know  that  for  some  paltry 
customs'  duties  which  he  would  levy,  and  not 
pay.  But  I  must  not  teach  you  how  ill  I  can 
keep  counsel.  We  suspect  an  enemy  in  Car- 
rara ;  though  I  did  not  know  that  he  had  gone 
eo  far  as  actual  conspiracy." 

"  My  son,  you  are  right  to  maintain  that  dis- 
creet reserve  which  is  the  ornament  of  the 
Venetian  senator,  You  cannot  yet  know  that 
in  the  poor  friar  Marco,  whose  humble  obscu- 
rity might  have  saved  him  this  hard  imprison- 
ment, you  have  a  faitliful  friend  to  all  that  is 
true  and  great — you  might  at  times  injure  your- 
self, injure  Venice,  by  careless  confidence."^  I 
can  injure  nothing,  but  this  worl^ldess  body,  by 
telling  all  I  know.  But  the  story  must  not  keep 
you  standmg  ;"  tind  rising,  he  placed  one  of  the 
tall  straight-backed  woodon  ohairs  for  the  sen- 
ator; who  disposed  himself  to  hear  the  friar's 
disclosures. 


The  tale,  often  interrupted  to  explain  this  or 
that  point,  may  he  told  in  fewer  words  than  its 
narrator  chose  to  use.  The  friar  prol(3ssed  not 
to  know  the  precise  reasons  of  Carrara's  en- 
mity to  Venice ;  but  he  had  entered  into  a 
a  league  with  other  potentates,  also  unknown 
to  the  friar,  to  depose  the  present  rulers  from 
their  power,  on  the  ground  that  their  personal 
rancor  against  him  had  made  them  sacrifice  the 
true  interests  of  their  city.  He  did  not  even 
desire  to  conquer  Venice — far  otherwise,  but  to 
convert  her  into  an  ally  as  friendly  as  he  de- 
served to  have  ;  raising  among  her  own  patri- 
cians other  rulers.  "  To  that  end,"  pursued 
the  friar,  "  Andrea  Contarini  is  to  be  removed, 
and,  if  I  understand  rightly,  the  new  doge  is  to 
be  Marco  Morosini ;  whom  I  dare  say  you 
know  well." 

Morosini  started. 

"  It  was  for  refusing  to  be  a  tool  to  this 
scheme — for  I  would  not  stain  my  sacred  call- 
ing with  intrigues  of  worldly  policy  and  guile — 
that  drew  upon  me,  as  I  suspect,  the  wrath  of 
Carrara.  Some  of  his  people  let  me  understand 
that  I  was  to  be  a  mesenger  to  this  Morosini ; 
but,  I  say,  I  refused.  Carrara  swore  indeed 
that  I  should ;  but  I  declared  that  I  would 
rather  rot  in  a  dungeon.  You  see  I  keep  my 
word ;  and  I  laugh  at  the  tyrant's  threat  that  I 
shall  be  his  messenger  in  spite  of  my  teeth." 

"Wonderful!"  exclaimed  Morosini.  "But 
tell  me,  why  did  Carrara  dare  to  suppose  that 
Morosini  would  accept  the  dogate  from  his 
hands  1" 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  They  say  that  Morosini 
has  the  fault  of  all  noble  blood — that  he  is  am- 
bitious ;  and  perhaps  Carrara  thought,  that  to 
rule  the  queen  of  the  sea,  given  into  his  hands 
in  all  her  unstained  power,  might  be  no  un- 
welcome task.  It  was,  he  said,  really  placing 
himself  and  all  his  potent  allies  at  the  personal 
command  of  Morosini.  Who  can  telH  Possi- 
bly it  would  even  not  be  difficult  to  make  the 
dogate  a  more  permanent  office — hereditary." 

Morosini  listened  in  a  transport  of  tantalized 
doubt.  He  knew  Carrara,  and  knew  that  he 
was  capable  both  of  the  intrigue  and  of  follow- 
ing it  up  with  deeds.  The  dream  of  his  disap- 
pointed life  seemed  realized.  The  almost  royal 
seat,  once  occupied  by  his  ancestors,  seemed 
wrongfully  withheld  from  him.  Who  among 
the  nobles  of  Venice  loved  their  country  with 
a  more  devoted  patriotism  1  whose  love  was 
informed  by  greater  wisdom  than  his  own  1  in 
sooth  Morosini  knew  not.  But  to  league  with 
the  branded  enemy  of  Venice  !  He  turned  ha- 
bitually aside  to  take  counsel  of  his  double,  the 
foster  brother  :  his  judgment  was  left  unwont- 
edly  to  himself  He  folded  his  arms,  he  roso 
from  his  seat,  and  forgetting  the  holy  friar,  hn 
traversed  the  narrow  room  with  long  quickly 
turning  steps. 


CHAPTER  II. 

In  the  little  room  adjoining  that  in  which 
were  Morosini  and  the  friar,  furnished  much  in 
the  same  way,  also  sat  two  persons.  One  was 
a  man  of  some  forty  or  fifty  years  of  age,  er  he 
might  be  younger,  but  marked  bv  the  traces  j1 


8 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


an  ambition  so  active,  so  vast  in  its  grasp,  and 
involved  in  such  complicated  intrigues,  that  the 
handsome  face,  which  seemed  naturally  fitter 
to  beam  with  wit  and  good-fellowship,  was 
lined  with  care,  and  clouded  with  a  severity 
almost  fierce.  The  compact  massy  head  was 
thickly  clothed  in  black  hair,  that  hung  in  care- 
less locks  waving  almost  to  a  curl,  but  slightly 
retreating  from  the  bold  jutting  brow.  Thick, 
but  pencilled  eyebrows  edged  a  brow  that  hung 
over  black  eyes  so  deep  that  none  could 
fathom  them,  yet  piercing  and  vigilant.  The 
straightish  nose  was  just  so  much  curved  as  to 
give  a  sharper  boldness.  The  clear  brown 
cheeks  glowed  with  a  fiery  blood,  that  showed 
itself  rather  in  fits  than  in  girlish  roses.  The 
face  looked  the  fuller  for  that  it  was  close  sha- 
ven ;  displaying  a  mouth  of  sweetness  too 
strongly  traced  in  its  waving  lines  to  be  oblit- 
erated by  the  compression  of  lip  which  seemed 
almost  habitual.  A  manly  neck  descended  bare 
into  a  coat  of  mail  which  covered  an  ample 
chest.  The  stout  rounded  arms,  issuing  from 
the  shoulder  pieces,  were  cased  in  mail ;  be- 
neath which  a  thick  acketon,  descending  some- 
what lower  than  common,  covered  a  pair  of 
brawny  legs.  The  cavalier  had  thrown  his 
gauntlets  on  the  table ;  on  which  was  firmly 
pressed  one  moveless  clenched  fist,  while  the 
other  sculptured  hand  was  firmly  spread  upon 
the  dark  skirt  that  covered  his  thigh.  He  sat 
like  one  in  the  possession  of  command.  The 
expression  of  his  face  was  austere  watchful- 
ness ;  but  an  observer  might  have  traced  in  it, 
as  he  sat  motionless  as  a  portrait,  cunning, 
high  intellect,  dauntless  audacity,  yet  gayety, 
and  even  kindness.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
table,  in  a  somewhat  similar  attitude,  was  the 
stalwart  Alessandro  Padovano.  The  position 
chosen  by  the  two  was  singular :  they  sat  be- 
fore a  little  door,  which  stood  open,  but  was 
blocked  on  the  other  side  by  some  dark  sub- 
stance, and  at  that  was  their  gaze  directed.  It 
was  the  back  of  the  picture  in  the  friar's  room. 
Francesco  da  Carrara  sat,  with  one  of  his  will- 
ing instruments  by  his  side,  to  listen,  while 
another  played  his  game  upon  the  baited  sena- 
tor of  Venice. 

When  Morosini,  without  replying  to  the  fri- 
ar's searching  hints,  rose  and  paced  the  room, 
Carrara  glanced  at  the  foster  brother's  face. — 
It  changed  not :  he  still  doubted  in  which  di- 
rection his  brother  would  take  the  field.  The 
silence  was  broked  only  by  the  agitated  stamp 
of  Morosini's  stride.     It  ceased — 

"No!"  exclaimed  he,  "my  commands  must 
come  from  Venice  herself,  and  in  her  own 
voice  !  Venice  may  spurn  my  highest  services, 
but  Morosini  courts  the  indignity.  Tell  Carra- 
ra that  he  has  the  body,  but  the  soul  of  the  Ve- 
netian is  still  on  the  council  seat  in  Venice ; 
the  humblest  there,  but  still  above  his  reach. — 
Let  him  kill  me  :  freed,  I  denounce  him."  And 
he  strode  towards  the  door  by  which  he  en- 
tered. 

"  Stay,  Messer  Morosini,"  said  the  friar.  "  I 
have  spoken  on  the  faith  of  your  unstained  hon- 
or. My  life  is  in  your  hands  ;  you  will  not  be- 
tray it." 

^  "  It  is  well.  You  are  safe.  I  .shall  watch 
*he  traitor  ;  but  hold  my  peace  for  the  sake  of 
hi«  prisoner."    He  departed. 


Half  mortified,  the  foster  brother  turned  hiH 
flushed  and  frowning  face  to  Carrara. 

"  Your  brother,"  said  the  Lord  of  Padua,  wilb 
a  sneer,  "is  too  honest." 

"  Had  I  but  been  there " 

"  You  would  have  been  betrayed  to  the  hon- 
est senator  one  of  my  strongholds  in  Venice, — 
yourself  No,  Alessandro,  it  is  a  chance  lost, 
but  not  more.  Your  brother  may  go  back  ;  it 
was  worth  trying,  and  no  harm  is  done,  for  you 
will  keep  him  quiet." 

The  picture  was  drawn  aside,  and  the  friar 
entered  the  room. 

"  Well  done,  cavallaccio,"  said  Carrara.  "  Is 
the  hall  prepared  for  our  next  task  1" 

"  At  my  lord's  service,"  said  the  friar  with  a 
smile. 

"To  it  then." 


CHAPTER  III. 

Carrar.\  and  his  two  companions  descended 
tc  a  hall,  not  of  great  size,  and  totally  bare  of 
furniture  ;  except  that  a  table  was  put  by  in  a 
corner  and  a  few  chairs  were  placed  by  the  single 
window,  which  looked  upon  the  sea-side.  Car- 
rara surveyed  the  room  like  one  who  saw  that 
his  directions  had  been  fulfilled  ;  then,  signing 
to  the  friar  to  close  the  door,  he  took  Alessan- 
dro's  hand,  and  passed  across  to  the  v/indow. 
He  opened  a  narrow  door,  concealed  by  some 
wood-work  at  the  side,  and  disclosed  a  small 
recess,  made  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall. 
"  Stow  yourself  here,  Signor  Alessandro  ;  your 
whisper  may  serve  me  at  a  pinch.  But  reserve 
it  for  that ;  and  whatever  you  hear,  be  it  battle 
and  death,  do  not  show  yourself"  He  closed 
the  door  upon  the  imperturbable  Alessandro. 
"  Now,  Marco,  place  this  great  chair  nearer  to 
the  window — more  on  this  side — turn  its  back 
more  to  the  light."  He  sat  in  it,  and  leaned 
back.  "  Let  us  hear  your  whisper,  Alessan- 
dro." 

"  Is  this  too  loud  1" 

"Did  you  hear  it,  Marco  1" 

"  I  heard  nothing,  my  lord." 

Carrara's  face  lighted  up  with  satisfaction. 
"  The  contrivance  has  a  worthy  fir.st  trial. 
Bring  to  us  these  most  excellent  lords." 

The  friar  left  the  room  ;  and  for  a  few  min- 
utes Carrara  paced  it  with  measured  steps.  The 
door  was  opened  by  Marco,  who  made  way  for 
four  gentlemen  ;  members  of  the  senate,  who 
had  been  kidnapped  at  the  same  time  that  Moro- 
sini was  carried  off— the  fiery  Jacopo  Malipiero, 
seized  in  his  own  bed,  by  his  own  servants, 
servants  of  his  no  more  ;  the  grave  majestic 
Soranzo,  the  lusty  jovial  Navagero,  and  the 
earnest  Steno.  Carrara  halted  in  his  walk,  and 
drawing  himself  up  proudly,  bowcJ  to  the  illus- 
trious prisoners.  They  returned  his  salute  with 
various  courtesy  ;  except  Malipiero,  who  poini- 
ing  his  finger  at  the  full  extent  of  his  long  arm 
reprovingly  at  Carrara,  exclaimed  with  a  burst 
of  rage,  "  For  what,  audacious  man,  arc  we 
brought  here  1  by  what  right  1  by  what — " 

Slight.y  smiling,  Carrara  motioned  to  the 
chairs  ranged  near  the  window,  opposite  to  his 
own  :  "  Be  seated,  noble  sirs.  I  will  not  long 
detain  you  ;  and  will  explain  to  Messer  Mali- 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


piero  why  I  have  ventured,  partly  for  his  own 
iake,  to  bring  him  here  without  pennission  first 
graved." 

The  stormy  flush  on  Malipiero's  passion-worn 
face  slight'y  subsided,  as  he  seated  himself  with 
his  companions.  Carrara  took  his  station  in 
the  great  chair,  and  throwing  himself  easily 
back  in  it,  signed  to  Marco  to  leave  the  room. 

"  First,  I  owe  it  to  Messer  Malipiero  to  ex- 
plain how  you  came  here.  You  will  learn  pre- 
sently how  needful  it  was  that  there  should  be 
this  conference ;  and  you  need  not  be  told  that 
it  was  hardly  safe  for  me  to  be  seen  in  Venice 
— Venice  whom  I  would  so  serve,  but  who 
wrongs  me  with  suspicion,  and  oppresses  me 
with  injury :  to  have  invited  you  would  have 
been  to  court  refusal,  or  to  have  placed  you 
yourselves  under  suspicion  of  favoring  this  poor 
traitor  Carrara.  I  saved  us  both  that  refusal, 
you  that  suspicion.  Sirs,  I  need  not  recount  the 
wrongs  that  Venice  has  done  me ;  not  I  be- 
lieve, of  malice  in  the  illustrious  Council,  but  in 
mistake  that  I  was  her  enemy.  When,  in  1373, 
the  fortune  of  war  went  against  me — or  rather 
against  the  Vaivode  of  Transylvania,  who  then 
commanded  the  forces  of  the  King  of  Hungary, 
ray  very  good  ally. you  compelled  me  to  an 
humbling  truce — you  compelled  me  to  have  the 
bounds  of  my  state  defined  by  your  own  offi-cers 
— to  pay  an  enormous  fine — the  poor  Lord  of 
Padua  to  pay  to  wealthy  Venice  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  ducats :  and  you  took  from  me 
at  the  vcrytimethemeans  of  paying — you  forced 
me  to  give  up  the  tax  at  the  gates  of  Padua — 
snatched  from  my  state  the  salt  pools  of  Curano 
— and  made  me  take  salt  from  your  own  Chioz- 
za."  A  whisper  reached  Carrara's  ear.  He 
added — "  You,  Soranzo,  proposed  that  condition 
in  the  senate." 

The  four  senators  started,  and  looked  at  each 
other. 

"Yes,  think  not  that  you  can  speak  in  the 
senate,  and  I  not  hear  you." 

"  The  Lord  of  Padua  knows,"  said  Soranzo, 
"  what  I  have  said,  and  that  it  was  the  interests 
of  Venice  alone  that  I  consulted.  I  am  ready 
to  answer  for  having  devoted  to  Venice  all  that 
I  have  and  am." 

"  I  know — I  know  ;  Messer  Soranzo  is  among 
the  most  patriotic  and  respected  of  her  sena- 
tors. But  worse,  far  worse  than  that  paltry 
tampering  with  the  means  of  my  poor  state — by 
great  and  wealthy  Venice — you  made  me  send 
my  noble  boy  to  crave  pardon,  on  his  bended 
knees,  of  the  doge,  in  the  Place  of  St.  Mark  ; 
and  you  forced  me — me,  suddenly  deprived  of 
aid,  by  the  mistaken  discretion  of  the  vaivode, 
because  he  had  lost  a  few  prisoners,  to  be  after- 
wards ransomed  from  your  dungeons — you 
forced  me,  forgetting  all  chivalry — but  what 
chivalry  ever  ruled  the  inexorable  senate  1 — you 
forced  me  to  the  bitter  shame  of  razing  all  my 
forts— built  again,  thank  heaven  !  as  this  that 
you  are  in.  You  Malipiero,  dictated  that  base 
and  cowardly  condition." 

"I  did,"  cried  Malipiero,  his  eyes  gleaming 
under  scowling  brows,  and  his  fraine  trembling 
with  rage,  "  I  did  and  I  am  here  to  answer  it." 
He  rose  violently  from  his  chair — "  but  why  do 
we  talk  of  thosQ  old  matters'?  You  have  us 
here  Carrara,  unarmed  ;  fi)ryou  dared  not  leave 
U3  our  swords  ;  do  your  worst.  I  did  raze  your 
B 


forts,  and  I  will  raze   this,  which   audaciously 
you  have  rebuilt." 

"  Malipiero,"  cried  Carrara,  starting  himsel, 
in  his  chair,  "  as  you  razed  my  forts  so  shall 
your  salt-selling  town  of  Chiozza" — there  was  a 
slight  tap  in  the  wall  behind  ;  the  whispered 
"  have  a  care"  had  not  reached  him.  He  cooled 
at  once.  "  I  did  not  bring  you  here,  noble  sirs, 
to  quarrel,  nor  as  an  enemy ;  nor  do  I  call  to 
mind  my  wrongs  to  raise  your  anger.  You 
thought  to  save  Venice ;  be  it  so — 'tis  past. 
But  this,  I  say,  that  you  have  not  forgotten 
your  enmity  to  a  crushed  foe  :  you — all  of  you, 
still  nourish  hatred  to  me  in  Venice  ;  even  now, 
when  the  power  of  Genoa  is  turned  against  you. 
I  would  have  prevented  it ;  I  would  have  been 
your  ally,  as  our  neighborhood  made  most  pro- 
per, but  you  have  spurned  me.  Be  it  so.  But  I 
tell  you  farther,  that  I  am  not  less  powerful  than 
I  was  when  Hungary  aided  me — I  am  more  so  ; 
yea,  even  the  lowly  Lord  of  Padua  has  for  his 
allies — (a  whisper  reached  his  ear) — Enough  !  I 
will  recover  that  station  from  which  Venice 
struck  me  down.  This,  then,  is  what  I  have  to 
say  to  you  :  Genoa,  seeking  her  own  ends,  in- 
creases my  strength  by  weakening  Venice — I 
will  permit  it;  but  Venice  shall  not  be  lost: 
when  the  hour  arrives,  J  will  succor  Venice,  and 
stay  the  march  of  her  destruction.  Till  then,  I 
will  chastise." 

Malipiero  felt  for  his  absent  sword  :  he  rose, 
and  paced  the  room. 

Not  noticing  him,  Carrara  proceeded.  "  Be 
assured  that  Venice  is  in  my  power,  and  that  I 
shall  use  my  power ;  but  mercifully.  Now  for 
yourselves.  You,  my  lords,  of  all  the  senate, 
most  hate  me :  others  would  exalt  Venice  ; 
you  hate  my  person." 

"  Not  so,"  said  Steno  ;  "  we,  like  others, 
think  of  Venice  alone  ;  and  this  I  can  declare, 
that  if  Carrara  chose  to  join  the  alliance  of  the 
republic,  none  would  be  more  welcome,  and 
no  greater  friend  would  he  have  than  tli-^ 
Steno." 

"  It  is  too  late.  No ;  things  must  go  for- 
ward. But,  Messer  Steno,  I  know  your  words  ; 
you  yourself  said,  but  last  month,  that  •  If  I 
were  seized,  quiet  as  I  seem,  the  enemies  ot 
Venice  would  be  paralyzed — lacking  their  gen- 
ius.' " 

Steno  and  his  companions  again  stared  in 
amaze. 

"It  seems,"  said  Navagero,  "that  some  ol 
us  are  traitors  :  it  must  be  Malipiero,  by  his 
anxious  look." 

"  Messer  Slcno,"  retorted  his  outraged  friend, 
"  is  this  a  foolish  jesting,  or  is  this  some  mad 
dream,  that  I  am  here  between  friend  and  foe 
alike  ribald  and  base  !" 

"  Nay,  peace,  peace  !"  said  Soranzo. 

Carrara  continued  —  "  Your  words  have 
reached  me,  and  to  them  I  look.  But  I  must 
cut  short  that  influence.  Gentlemen,  in  brief, 
I  have  two  paths  to  offer  you:  think  gravely  ol 
it ;  remember  who  is  before  you,  and  what  he 
dares  :  one  path  is  back  to  Venice,  the  other  to 
your  graves." 

Malipiero   started    forward  :    he  would  have 
seized  Carrara,  in  the  desperate  determination 
to  make   the  plotter  himsself  a  hostage  in  his 
throttling  grasp  ;  but  his  companions  held 
back. 


10 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


*'  Think  not  that  you  can  serve  yourselves 
oy  touching  me.  I  might  be  mastered  by  four 
'■'ivahers  of  your  prowess,  but  my  defeat  would 
lie  the  signal  for  a  hundred  swords  to  pierce 
you.  Let  us  be  calm,  sirs  ;  the  condiiions  are 
not  hard.  I  ask  you  not  to  be  my  allies ;  you 
may,  and  will,  perhaps,  meet  me  in  the  field  ;  but 
'his  you  will  swear — not  yourselves  to  propose 
or  support  anything  in  the  senate  which  aims 
at  my  hurt.  You  will  swear  this  in  good  faith  : 
and  to-morrow  you  will  be  serving  your  country 
with  your  counsel.  Let  us  say  no  more  now. 
We  have  all  been  irritated,  and  I  crave  your 
pardon  for  my  own  hasty  speech.  You  will  be 
led  back,  noble  sirs,  to  your  apartment ;  and  I 
hope  it  is  as  little  incommodious  as  my  humble 
means  can  make  it.  If  the  servants  have  neg- 
lected their  duty,  1-2II  me,  that  my  hospitality, 
and  the  deference  which  I  owe  to  your  station, 
and  to  your  paticice  under  this  force  which 
I  am  obliged  to  put.  upon  you,  may  not  be 
slivimed." 

-Malipiero,  w^.f>  had  assumed  a  sullen  silence, 
made  no  sign,  ftoranzo  replied  for  all — "  Your 
servants,  sir,  vre  diligent  and  courteous.  But 
W3  claim  our  freedom.  Rather  than  be  traitors 
Id  our  cor.ntry,  we  would  for  ever  remain  in 
your  lowest  dimgeons." 

"  That,"  ?aid  Carrara  hastily,  "  was  not  one 
of  the  conr'.itions.  I  do  not  use  to  keep  caged 
nobles." 

"Indeed!"  cried  Malipiero  fiercely;  "will 
your  uncle  say  as  much,  Carrara-I" 

Carrara,  keeping  his  stedfast  and  unmoved 
look  on  ."^idiano  added,  "  we  will  talk  no  more. 
The  conditions — tlie  sole  conditions  are  known 
to  you:  ponder  them.  We  will  talk  again  in  the 
evening,  and  at  nigiit  you  can  be  borne  back  to 
Venice. — Ho  there  !" 

Marco  entered. 

"  Holy  father,  convey  these  gentlemen  to  their 
apartment,  and  see  that  they  be  served  with  the 
best.  Let  me  beseech  you,  sirs,  say  nothing 
more  till  we  meet  again." 

The  senators  returned  his  bow,  and  retired. 

Carrara  bolted  the  door  behind  them  and  re- 
leased Alcssandro. 

"  Now,"  said  the  cavalier,  "your  foster  broth- 
er must  be  fed,  and  let  him  be  made  sleepy; 
you  understand.  When  these  men  have  yielded, 
he  can  be  taken  back  to  Venice.  It  would  be 
scarcely  safe  till  then.  Arrived,  you  will  see 
liiin  first." 

"  He  will  first  seek  me,  and  I  shall  teach  him 
how  wise  it  will  be  to  hold  his  peace.  You 
know  that  Morosini  sits  in  the  senate,  but  that 
I  give  counsel  there  and  direct  the  vote." 

"Chief  of  my  Venetian  corps,  praise  not 
yourself  to  me.  I  know  my  men  when  I  choose 
ihem.  And  now,  when  your  brother  is  served, 
let  me  see  if  I  have  a  wine  sparkling  enough  to 
make  that  sombre  face  laugh :  it  would  be  Car- 
rara's greatest  victory." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

As  they  left  the  room,  they  met  a  m.an  v;ho 
v.as  about  to  enter.  Carrara,  who  walked  first, 
hastily  whispered — "  n.ot  now,  sir,  not  now  ;" 
and    the   other   abruptly  retired       The   foster 


biolher  had  seen  him  ;  but  he  feigned  not  to  have 
seen  anything.  The  man  slunk  into  the  room 
which  they  had  left.  He  was  a  person  of  more 
than  middle  age  ;  so  dressed,  that  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  tell  whether  he  was  a  gentleman 
or  a  servant ;  for  his  brown  vest  and  dark  silk 
hose,  and  blue  cloak  faded  to  a  sombre  gray, 
might  have  l)elonged  to  one  of  good  degree ;  yet 
they  were  so  worn  and  tumbled,  that  a  servant 
would  scarcely  have  deigned  to  exchange  his 
livery  for  them.  His  limbs  were  meagre  but 
sinewy,  and  his  once  handsome  face  was  weath- 
er-beaten and  care  worn,  and  disfigured  by  a 
flighty  expression,  which  harmonized  with  his 
restless  manner.  Presently  Carrara  returned, 
alone. 

"  It  was  unlucky,  Jacopo,  that  you  showed 
yourself  An  Arduino  should  not  be  seen  in 
these  walls,  or  people  might  think  that  we  were 
plotting  against  Venice." 

Jacopo  Arduino  smiled  in  careless  assent,  as 
if  he  thought  it  absurd,  that  his  movements  could 
be  of  importance. 

"  To  be  serious,"  added  Carrara,  "  we  need, 
Messer  Jacopo,  to  be  careful  in  this  matter.  The 
gold  is  ready  for  you,  and  you  will  convey  it  to 
my  excellent  friend.  Carlo  Zeno.  You  need  not 
tell  him  how  I  thank  him,  for  Zeno  knows  it 
well  ;  and  never  vvould  my  retribution  visit 
Venice,  if  only  for  his  sake.  You  may  tell  him 
that.  And  now,  Messer  Jacopo,  let  me  thank 
you  for  your  singular  good  will  and  trouble  in 
serving  me  in  this  matter." 

Jacopo  eagerly  interrupted — "  Nay,  nay,  speak 
not  of  that :  I  am  but  too  glad  to  serve  so  ex- 
cellent a  gentleman  as  yourself;  for  I  never 
believed  what  they  say  of  you  in  Venice — never. 
Moreover,  I  can  never  enough  serve  my  kind 
friend,  Messer  Zeno.  I  am  fallen  in  estate, 
Carrara  ;  but  to  serve  my  friends  is  still  some 
companionship  with  them,  for  which  I  am  grate- 
ful." And  Jacopo  looked  sad,  almost  dignified, 
as  he  spoke. 

Carrara  felt  an  unusual  embarrassment,  as  he 
said,  "Messer  Jacopo,  forgive  me  if  Isaj',  that 
you  must  not  incur  this  trouble  to  lose  by  it  too. 
You  have  spent  money  in  this  my  service  ;  let 
me  repay  it  to  you."  He  proffered  a  purse  ol 
gold. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Jacopo,  his  face  flushing, 
and  his  eyes  filhng  with  tears — "no  gold!" 

"  You  will  not  scorn  Carrara's  just  payment 
to  yo'u,  Jacopo." 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  am  not  proud,  Carrara  ;  but  if  I 
take  your  gold,  Carrara,  I  lose  all  I  have  earned 
— it  is  no  more  friend  for  friend." 

"You  are  foolish.  Take  the  gold — what  is 
gold — could  you  pay  Zeno  in  gold — can  I  pay 
you,  do  you  think — or  do  you  think  that  I  think 
so! — Never,  man!  Besides,  you  need  it  for 
those  at  home,  and  I  only  make  the  excuse  ol 
your  kind  service  to  me,  to  send  this  gift  to 
them.     Take  it  as  a  gift  if  you  will." 

"As  a  gift,"  said  Jacopo;  and  he  took  the 
gold. 

Carrara  added,  "  You  shall  sup  with  me  to- 
night; and  we  will  talk  of  Zeno,  and  our  youth- 
ful days,  Jacopo.  Till  then  I  must  leave  you. 
But  keep  to  your  room,  my  friend  ;  for  there  are 
those  in  the  place  who  must  not  see  you." 


THE   FOSTER  BROTHER. 


11 


CHAPTER  V. 

After  the  repast  provided  for  him  by  the 
hospitality  of  Carrara,  Morosini  found  himself 
awaking  once  more  in  a  boat ;  and  as  he  rose 
from  the  cushions  in  which  he  lay,  he  perceived 
Itiat  he  was  in  a  common  fishing-boat,  with  an 
awning  spread  over  him.  The  sun  was  bright. 
Seeing  him  wake,  the  steersman  addressed  him 
respectfully,  and  told  him  that  he  had  been  lifted 
while  he  slept  from  another  boat  of  which  the 
crew  said  that  he  was  fatigued  with  travelling, 
and  that  he  desired  to  go  from  Padua  to  Venice 
as  privately  as  he  might.  According  to  his  wont, 
when  his  foster  brother  was  not  by  to  prompt 
him  in  a  difficulty,  he  said  as  little  as  possible, 
and  sunk  once  more  into  a  doze,  until  the  steers- 
man again  asked  him,  whether  he  would  not 
prefer  entering  the  town  in  a  city  gondola! 
He  assented  ;  one  was  hailed  ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  entered  his  own  palace. 

He  passed  at  once  to  the  principal  saloon, 
from  which  the  sounds  of  music  swelled  as  the 
door  was  opened  by  the  servant  that  had  it  in 
charge.  Seated  on  a  chair  was  a  young  lady, 
with  a  sheet  of  music  in  her  hand,  his  daughter, 
hut  how  unlike  her  surviving  parent.  She  could 
scarcely  be  accounted  tall,  although  a  graceful 
length  of  limb  made  her  look  so.  The  light 
slimness  of  the  girl  was  swelling  into  ripe 
womanhood  ;  and  the  glow  of  her  clear  brown 
skin  was  such  as  in  after  days  inspired  her  coun- 
tryman the  prince  of  colorists  ;  shaming  with 
its  brilliancy  the  opaque  whiteness  of  fairer 
skins.  The  jet  black  hair,  which  waved  in 
clustering  ringlets  from  her  brow,  the  bright- 
ness of  her  eyes,  the  roses  of  her  cheeks  and 
lips,  the  joyous  smile  that  disclosed  living  ivory, 
the  dazzling  transparency  of  her  neck  and 
bosom,  which  the  dead  v\hite  of  the  linen  that 
enshrined  it,  and  the  deep  green  of  the  velvet 
bodice  that  embraced  her  fruitlike  form,  would 
have  composed  a  picture  too  brilliant,  had  not  a 
melting  tenderness  softened  the  lash-shaded 
eyes,  and  piayed  on  the  curling  lips.  That  dul- 
cet mouth  sccined  made  for  the  music  that 
swelled  the  liquid-moving  throat.  If  her  un- 
likeness  to  her  parent  surprised,  how  much  more 
wondrous  was  the  likeness  to  him  in  the  noble 
youth  that  sat  beside  her,  so  like  and  so  unlike 
— a  picture  of  evil  painted  in  goodness.  Scarce- 
ly of  such  lengthened  proportions,  his  tall  figure 
combined  that  ponderous  strength  with  that 
compact  lightness,  which  is  the  consummation 
of  manly  grace.  A  wreath  of  crisp  curls  adorn- 
ed his  commanding  brow  ;  the  slightly  outward- 
curved  line  of  his  nose  gave  to  it  a  character  of 
decision  and  courage ;  in  his  cheeks  the  full- 
ness of  youth  had  begun  to  give  place  to  the 
sterner  mould  of  manhood  ;  a  thick  close  beard 
on  the  up|)cr  lip  and  chin,  had  just  assumed  a 
more  vigorous  growth  than  the  down  that  edged 
his  checks :  a  neck  like  a  stag's  for  graceful 
length  and  swelling  strength,  was  rooted  in 
•shoulders,  to  depict  which,  Michael  Angelo  and 
Raphael  must  have  borrowed  from  each  other 
potency  and  grace.  He  grasped  in  his  left  hand 
the  finger  board  of  a  lute,  from  which  his  right 
hand  wrung  music  so  full  and  loud,  that  his  sis- 
ter's voice  was  provoked  to  an  emulous  rivalry, 
and  the  iiarmony  filled  all  the  lotty  room,  curl- 
ing about  its  florid  cornices,  and  eddying  in  its  ■ 


I  vaulted  roof;  while  Sebastian  gazed  at  the  up« 
turned  face  beside  him,  exulting  with  all  a 
!  brother's  love,  in  the  might  of  song  so  sweet 
from  lips  so  gentle.  As  Morosini  entered,  the 
spell  was  broken  ;  the  sounds  ceased,  and  the 
brother  and  sister  rose  to  greet  their  father — 
Sebastian  with  cheerful  respect,  Angiolina  with 
a  love  that  overflowed  from  her  abundant  heart, 
creating  in  its  I'ullness  the  deserts  of  its  own 
object. 

A  close  observer  of  all  the  decorums  of  life, 
and  especially  those  which  are  considered  in- 
cumbent on  the  statesman,  it  was  with  some- 
thing akin  to  pride  that  Morosini  laid  himself 
open  to  the  imputation  of  a  vice,  which,  he  said, 
was  common  in  the  greatest  statesmen  ;  and 
widowhood  had  left  him  without  scruples  in  re- 
spect to  appearances,  if  unbending  in  thegayeties 
of  celibacy.  His  absences  were  too  frequent  to 
cause  surprise  tohischildren.  Sebastian  guessed 
but  avoided,  knowing  the  cause  ;  Angiolina  im- 
plicitly believed  that  they  were  necessary  foraf- 
i'airs  of  state.  They  formed  for  Alessandro  a 
great  convenience,  first  because  they  occasioned 
useful  intervals  of  freedom;  next  because  he 
was  able  to  impute  to  them  any  absence  of 
which  he  did  not  wish  to  seem  to  know  the  real 
reason  ;  and  chiefly  because  they  furnished  ma- 
terial for  a  very  subtle  flattery  ;  callous  himself, 
he  was  able  to  keep  up  a  show  of  great  austerity 
of  life  ;  which  gave  him  opportunity  to  reprove 
"  Marco,"  as  on  such  occasions  alone  he  thought 
it  politic  to  call  him,  for  his  "  libertine  courses  ;" 
whereat  Morosini  not  only  conceived  an  exalted 
respect  for  his  brother's  continence,  but  also  was 
convinced  of  the  bold  frankness  of  the  man,  who 
made  him  believe  himself  superior  in  a  hundred 
other  really  important  matters  ;  and  even  in 
that  particular  left  a  loophole,  to  imagine  that 
his  lordly  relative  erred  from  patrician  habits  oi 
indulgence,  and  a  happier  turn  for  pleasing  the 
fair.  It  was,  therefore,  the  salt  of  life  for  Moro- 
sini to  resign  himself  to  the  brief  castigation  of  a 
frown  and  a  solemn  reproof,  never  made  tedious. 
Of  his  daughter's  innocent  ignorance  he  quite 
approved  ;  and  that  leeling  luade  him  reward 
her  with  some  endeavor  to  display  paternal 
tenderness,  as  he  pressed  her  hastily  to  his 
bosom,  and  kissed  her  brow  with  mechanical 
emphasis.  Sel)astian's  suspicions  were  matter 
of  course,  and  of  indifference  ;  and  the  bow  of 
the  son  was  duly  sanctioned  by  an  approving 
bend  of  the  head  Having  thus  performed  his 
paternal  devoirs,  Morosini  looking  round  the 
room,  and  saw  the  object  of  his  search,  silting 
in  a  corner,  poring  over  a  large  volume  of  clas- 
sic lore  ;  for  Alessandro  had  from  the  first 
perceived  the  advantage  which  learning  would 
prove  to  his  tainted  escocheon  ;  and  he  had  so 
well  profited  by  his  labors,  tliat  he  had  enjoyed 
in  the  frequent  sight  of  Venice  the  converse  of 
Petrarch  himself  Morosini  laid  his  hand  on 
bis  foster  brother's  shoulder,  and  he,  closing  his 
book,  rose  at  the  bidding  of  his  lord's  counte- 
nance, and  accompanied  him  to  an  inner  room  ; 
leaving  the  brother  and  sister  to  resume  their 
music — Angiolina  with  a  sigh,  Sebastian  with  a 
sense  of  relief— until  summoned  to  the  morning 
meal. 

Hastily  and  angrily  Morosini  recounted  his 
adventure;  but  so  confusedly  that  the  Paduan 
could  scarcely  have  understood  him,  but  that  he 


12 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


knew  it  all  befi  re- -a  frequent  case  with  Moro- 
sini's  disclosures  to  him.  He  had  no  difficulty 
in  persuading  the  senator  that  it  would  most 
comport  with  his  dignity,  be  safer  to  prevent 
suspicion,  and  be  most  politic  for  watcliing  the 
futuie  course  of  events,  to  conceal  the  whole  ; 
and  he  was  considering  how  he  could  arrest  the 
tiresome  overflow  of  the  noble's  indignation, 
when  they  were  interrupted  by  a  servant,  who 
told  Morosini  tliat  a  woman  wished  to  speak 
v.ith  him. 

"Again,  Marco  1"  said  the  foster  brother,  in 
a  low  voice,  with  a  frown. 

'  Nay,"  replied  Morosini,  with  a  latent  smile, 
"I  know  not  who  it  is.  Bid  her  send  her  mes- 
sage by  you,  Pippo." 

"  I  told  her  so,  my  lord,  but  she  will  not  be 
answered." 

"  You  had  better  see  her  yourself,  and  not 
make  confidants  of  babbling  lackeys,"  whis- 
pered Alessandro,  as  he  left  the  room. 

Presently  a  woman  was  ushered  in.  Her  tall 
figure  showed,  through  the  thick  gray  cloak  and 
veil  that  enveloped  her,  a  firm  and  dignified 
carriage ;  her  face  was  so  covered  as  to  be 
scarcely  visible.  By  her  side  walked  a  stripling 
of  some  si.Kteen  years  in  height,  but  his  boyish 
face  might  have  seen  but  twelve  or  fourteen 
springs  ;  his  fair  locks,  carefully  combed,  were 
surmounted  by  an  old  velvet  cap  ;  his  body  was 
clothed  in  a  faded  gray  vest  of  some  indifferent 
stuff,  and  dingy  dark  hose  covered  his  legs  ;  but 
no  meanness  of  dress  could  disguise  the  plea- 
sing form  of  an  active  and  well-grown  boy; 
while  the  healthy  glow  of  his  handsome  face, 
and  the  upright  step,  as  he  led  the  woman  by 
the  hand,  his  left  resting  on  the  short  poignard 
that  hung  by  his  side,  bespoke  an  honest  and 
courageous  heart.  He  stopped  inside  the  door, 
as  the  woman  advanced  to  Morosini.  The  sen- 
ator gazed  on  her  in  calm  attention. 

"My  lord,"  said  a  low,  firm  voice,  issuing 
from  the  veil,  "  I  am  a  messenger  from  a  mo- 
ther's bed  of  sickness.  I  come  from  the  wife 
of  Jacopo  Arduino." 

Morosini's  brow  contracted,  as  he  asked, 
"  Why  does  the  wife  of  Jacopo  Arduino  send  to 
mcV 

"Because  she  is  in  trouble — reduced  to  the 
lowest  misery,  and  believed  that  the  Morosini 
would  not  desire  the  blood  of  his  friend  Orso 
Arduino  to  perish." 

"  How  is  this'!  what  has  happened  1  and  tell 
me,  girl,  why  is  the  wife  of  Jacopo  obliged  to 
beg  charity  !  The  man  has  been  indiscreet — 
so  reckless  as  to  lose  his  station,  and  with  it  the 
countenance  of  his  family  ;  his  very  marriage 
with  a  common  woman  would  have  done  as 
much.  But  he  has  means,  he  has  at  least 
hands,  and  why  dors  he  leave  his  family  to  beg  • 
where  is  heV 

"My  father  has  been  unfortunate,  but  when 
my  mother  accepted  his  love  slie  had  health  and 
strength  to  aid,  rather  than  encumber  him. 
You  know  that  the  plague  struck  her  down, 
and  that  she  never  recovered  that  dreadful 
stroke." 

"Why  should  I  knowl  Where  is  your 
father  r' 

"We  know  not ;  but  we  are  sure  that  he  is 
absent  for  our  good,  or  that  some  accident 
keeps  him.     We  have  not  seen  him  for  ten  days, 


and  my  suit  to  your  lordsliip  now  is,  that  yoa 
would  vouchase  your  powerful  aid  to  have  him 
sought,  and  spare  to  us,  in  our  need,  a  morse 
of  your  wealth,  to  be  paid  after  our  father's  re 
turn." 

"  Girl,  I  have  no  wealth.  My  wealth  belongs 
to  Venice,  and  cannot  be  lavished  to  patch  up 
the  battered  fortunes  of  shameless  spendthrifts. 
You  say  you  want,  but  that  boy  shows  no  signs 
of  famine." 

"  He  is  the  youngest,  and  we  strive  to  keep 
him  from  feeling  misery  as  long  as  we  can.  Oh  ! 
how  hard  you  are.  I  would  not  supplicate,  but 
that  my  wretched  mother  sinks  with  fear  and 
weakness,  and  I  dare  not  return  as  I  came." 

In  the  earnestness  of  her  appeal,  the  woman 
allowed  her  veil  to  unclose,  and  display  a  face 
sufficiently  attractive  to  please  the  critical  Mo- 
rosini.    His  tone  changed. 

"There  is,  indeed,"  said  he,  "one  way  in 
which  your  mother  might  be  served.  But  then, 
fair  one,"  he  added  with  a  forced  smile,  "ser- 
vices should  be  mutual.  Can  that  sweet  face 
repay  kindness  with  kindness  1" 

The  girl  drew  herself  up,  and  fixing  on  his 
face  one  steadfast  look,  she  said,  "  I  fear  we 
cannot  understand  each  other.  I  take  my  leave 
of  your  lordship." 

"  Nay,  hurry  not  away  ;"  and  he  would  have 
taken  her  hand. 

"  Ranieri  I"  she  cried,  quickly,  but  not  loud. 

The  boy  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant. 

''  I  shall  give  to  my  mother  your  lordship's 
answer — that  is,  the  answer  to  her  message." 

She  bowed  and  left  the  room  ;  Morosini,  hal/ 
wondering  why  he  let  her  go  so  easily. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


The  day  proved  hot  and  oppressive,  and  Se- 
bastian,  in  aimless  idleness,  loitered  from  the 
Place  of  St.  Mark,  late  after  his  evening  lounge, 
into  some  of  the  smaller  and  deserted  streets 
that  branched  off  from  it.  His  attention  waa 
arrested  near  ine  end  of  a  dark  calle,  by  a  pe- 
culiar sound  ofstruiJgling  mixed  with  a  woman's 
voice  in  earnest  entreaty,  and  now  and  then,  a 
sharp  sound  like  a  suppressed  scream.  It  was 
like  some  one  in  terror  yet  afraid  to  call  for  as- 
sistance. .  He  moved  towards  the  spot,  directed 
rather  by  the  noise  than  by  the  moonlight  which 
was  now  becoming  more  and  more  obscured  bj 
drifting  clouds.  In  the  deep  gloom,  he  saw  a 
man,  with  a  woman  struggling  in  his  arms  as 
if  for  life  ;  while  he  embraced  her  with  an  occa 
sional  murmur  of  cajolery  and  a  sneering 
chuckle.  "  Leave  her,  ribald  !"  cried  Sebastian, 
as  he  stepped  briskly  forward.  The  man  de 
sisted,  and  stopped  for  an  instant,  as  if  preparec' 
to  contest  the  matter;  but  as  Sebastian  came 
nearer,  he  turned  quickly  away,  and  with  rapid 
strides  disappeared  in  the  dark  lane.  Sebastian 
would  have  followed  ;  but  he  saw  the  woman 
stagger,  and  had  he  not  caught  her  in  his  arms 
she  would  have  fallen.  Her  weight  told  him 
that  she  had  fainted ;  and  in  spite  of  his  good 
nature,  he  began  to  reflect  with  some  embar- 
rassment at  the  awkardness  of  his  position,  with 
a  lifeless  woman  in  his  arms,  not  knowing 
whither  to  oear  her.     The  moon   again  came 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


13 


forth,  shining  full  upon  his  unconscious  burden  ; 
;ind  in  spite  of  his  perplexity  he  could  not  help 
s.  anning  her  somewhat  closely,  as  her  head 
lay  upon  his  shoulder.  She  was  worthy  of  his 
critical  regard.  The  thick  and  somewhat  coarse 
veil  which  had  covered  the  upper  part  of  her 
figure,  had  been  torn  off  in  the  struggle,  and 
hung  loose  around  her.  As  she  leaned  against 
him,  the  folds  of  a  sober  dress  of  common  stuff 
did  not  conceal  the  grace  of  a  tall  and  command- 
ing figure.  Her  face  was  cast  in  the  finest 
mould  :  somewhat  too  thin  for  beauty,  suffer- 
ing of  mind  or  body  seemed  to  have  slightly 
disturbed  the  regularity  of  its  outline  ;  but  even 
the  helpless  prostration  of  the  swoon  did  not 
mar  the  sweet  dignity  of  womanhood  ;  and  the 
fairness  of  her  complexion,  the  soft  fair  hair  that 
waved  in  loosened  tresses  from  her  temples,  and 
the  extreme  pallor,  which  showed  y6t  more  for 
the  silver  moonlight,  imparted  an  air  of  delicacy 
and  gentleness  that  made  Sebastian  hold  her 
more  tenderly  and  reverently  in  his  arms.  A 
sigh  like  departing  sleep  stirred  her  severed  lips, 
then  a  low  uneasy  murmur  ;  and  a  pair  of  soft 
blue  eyes,  in  half  awakened  sense,  met  Sebas- 
tian's gaze.  A  sudden  terror  overspread  her 
face ;  she  strove  to  rise  from  his  arms  with 
scarcely  articulate  exclamations.  "  Fear  no- 
thing, dear  lady,"  he  said,  in  a  low  earnest 
voice,  "you  are  safe,  and  there  is  none  here  to 
offend  you  with  athought  of  harm."  She  seemed 
to  know  by  the  voice  that  she  was  no  loi)ger  in 
that  audacious,  cruel  embrace  ;  and  terror  no 
more  giving  renewed  strength,  again  she  sank 
exhausted.  Sebastian  felt  no  impatience  now, 
as  he  held  his  arms  unmoved,  lest  her  rest  should 
be  disturbed.  Another  sigh  and  she  rose  slow- 
ly from  his  embrace  ;  and  putting  her  hand, 
bewildered,  to  her  brow,  she  tottered  forward. 
Sebastian  again  passed  his  arm  round  her,  but 
so  gently  and  resijec'tfully,  that  she  could  not 
fear.  "  Suffer  me,"  he  said,  "  to  support  you  ; 
you  cannot  yet  stand.  Tell  me  where  I  can 
place  you  in  safety."  "  Where,  ah  !  where  !" 
she  cried  ;  and  clasping  her  hands  together,  she 
turned  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and  exclaimed,  "  Oh  ! 
can  suffering  goodness  find  no  peace  on  earth  1 
but  must  its  servants  be  the  sport  of  pitiless 
crime  1"  A  burst  of  tears  relieved  her.  Se- 
bastian stood  beside  her  in  respectful  silence. 
Presently  she  turned  to  him,  and  said,  "  I  do 
not  know  how  to  thank  you,  sir,  for  this  protec- 
tion, or  I  would  thank  you  with  my  soul."  She 
was  about  to  leave  him,  when  he  begged  her 
not  to  reject  his  support  and  guard  until  she  was 
in  safely.  For  an  instant  she  bent  upon  him 
a  fixed  and  searching  look,  her  unmoved  eyes 
reading  his  countenance  like  a  book.  How 
much  did  that  regard  tell,  of  wrong  known,  of 
firm  self-reliance,  of  practised  judgment!  No 
unworthy  fear  made  Sebastian  shun  her  regard  : 
but,  a-s  he  leaned  forwerd,  he  turned  his  face  up 
to  hers,  as  one  who  would  have  his  credentials 
read  through  every  line.  Unconscious  of  her 
stern  scrutiny,  her  eyes  dropped  gently,  and  her 
countenance  resumed  its  softer  expression,  as 
she  placed  her  hand  in  his,  and  suffered  him  to 
lead  her  the  way  she  turned  her  steps.  "  We 
have  not  far  to  go,"  she  said  ;  and  then  she 
suddenly  added,  "  Tell  me,  in  my  terror  did  I 
scream  1" 

"  Scarcely  to  be  heard." 


"  I  hope  not  ;  for  it  might  have  carried  my 
terror  to  the  bed  of  one  who  is  sick  and  feeble." 

She  stopped  at  the  door  of  a  house  that  opened 
into  the  lane. 

"Are  you  in  safety  now  T'  asked  Sebastian. 

"  If  any  where,"  she  answered  sadly  :  then 
more  cheerfully  she  added,  "  Yes,  no  dangei 
could  follow  me  here.  Farewell,  sir ;  never 
will  your  goodness  be  forgotten." 

Sebastian  relinquished  her  hand  without  the 
pressure  that  he  was  wont  to  bestow  unreproved, 
on  that  of  high-born  damsels;  and  he  bowed 
lowly  as  the  girl  entered  the  house.  One  grave 
kind  look  greeted  him  as  she  closed  the  door 
after  her,  and  he  heard  it  bolted.  A  few  min- 
utes he  remained  looking  on  the  door  ;  scarce- 
ly thinking,  but  in  the  mood  of  a  man  to  whom 
an  event  has  happened  that  he  is  hopeless  ol 
unriddling,  and  so  contemplates  without  thought. 
The  dark  outlines  of  the  house,  which  was  quite 
unknown  to  him,  and  was  of  rather  an  humble 
kind  than  otherwise,  had  grown  in  those  mo- 
ments familiar  objects.  Not  a  sound  was 
heard,  save  the  ripple  of  the  water  and  a  dis- 
tant hum  of  men.     He  walked  slowly  away. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

As  he  proceeded,  the  hum  which  he  had  heard 
grew  louder,  and  gradually  he  could  distinguish 
shouts  and  angry  cries.  He  quickened  his 
pace  ;  something  was  evidently  the  matter  in 
the  city.  Entering  the  square  of  St.  Mark,  and 
going  on  to  the  piazzetta,  he  found  the  whole 
place  in  a  tumult ;  and  near  the  water  side, 
from  the  midst  of  the  dark  mass  of  a  quickly 
shifting  crowd,  he  saw  the  glare  of  torches 
which  were  dashed  to  and  fro.  He  hurried  to 
the  spot.  As  he  drew  near,  a  horrid  spectacle 
reared  itself  from  the  moving  mass.  An  old 
woman,  more  crooked  than  years  ever  bent  the 
frame,  her  eyes  staring  rigid  and  glassy  amid 
their  wrinkles,  her  nose  and  chin  forced  apart 
by  a  ghastly  grin  of  agony  and  terror,  her  stony 
cheeks  and  white  hair  dabbled  in  blood,  was 
lifted  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  and  as  she 
fell  back  again  one  smote  her  with  a  torck 
With  a  cry  of  horror  Sebastian  rushed  forward, 
and  forced  his  way  through  the  dense  and  heed- 
less multitude.  When  he  had  done  so,  a  new 
sight  appeared.  The  old  woman  lay,  half 
crouched  up  and  resting  on  her  hands,  upon  the 
ground,  and  over  her  stood  a  young  cavalier, 
with  his  sword  drawn,  and  both  hands  extended 
to  keep  back  the  enraged  crowd.  The  person 
that  thus  braved  them,  seemed  scarcely  fitted 
to  cope  with  such  a  foe.  He  was  barely  of 
middle  height,  and  his  light  frame,  fair  com- 
plexion, short  light  brown  ringlets,  delicate  fea- 
tures, and  close,  silken  beard,  gave  an  appear- 
ance of  extreme  youth.  But  a  second  glance 
detected  in  the  full  chest,  the  manly  breadth  oi 
shoulder,  the  well  knit  joints  and  muscular 
limbs,  and,  above  all,  in  the  stern  glow  of  a 
deep  hazel  eye,  the  vigor  and  courageous  heart 
that  made  him  front  his  unnumbered  foes  with 
an  air  of  peremptory  command,  which  held 
them  back  far  more  than  the  sword  he  grasped. 
"The  Englishman!  It  is  the  Englishman!" 
shouted  a  thousand  voices ;  "  be  is  a  traitor  ' 


14 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


lie  is  one  of  the  gang !  It  is  Carrara's  ruffiaji." 
Sebastian  recognized  in  the  dauntless  youth 
his  friend,  Edward  the  Enghshman — in  his  pro- 
((•gce,  an  old  crone  known  only  by  her  nick- 
name of  La  Gobba,  so  called  from  her  humped 
back ;  the  keeper  of  a  low  wine-shop,  which 
was  the  resort  of  the  bullies  and  all  the  refuse 
of  Venice.  In  an  instant  he  was  by  the  side 
of  his  friend  ;  and  Messer  Alberti,  Messer  da 
lliva,  and  one  or  two  more,  soon  formed  a  little 
band  that  daunted  the  rabble  rout  by  their  high 
station.  A  rough  fisherman  tried  cunningly  to 
draw  the  old  woman  into  the  crowd  behind  Ed- 
ward ;  who,  not  wishing,  both  for  prudence  and 
mercy,  to  shed  blood,  pushed  him  back  with  his 
open  hand.  The  man  drew  a  knife,  but  a  blow 
from  Sebastian's  sword  laid  him  beside  the 
chattering  crone  at  Edward's  feet.  The  crowd 
made  a  rush  ;  but  one  in  front  of  them  spread 
his  arms  and  cried,  "Stay,  stay;  'tis  young 
Morosini :  let  us  tell  them  ;  let  us  speak." 

"  Stand  back,  men,"  shouted  Edward,  in  their 
own  dialect :  "  do  you  not  know  friends  from 
enemies!" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  it  is  the  Englishman  !"  "  Hear 
.Messer  Odoardo  !"  "Give  us  up  La  Gobba!" 
"  There's  treachery  among  the  nobles  !"  "  Hear 
them  !"  "  Tell  them  !"  Such  were  the  dis- 
cordant cries  that  beat  the  air  about  Edward's 
cars,  as  he  still  stood  unmoved  over  the  mise- 
rable wretch  and  the  bleeding  fisherman.  There 
was  a  pause. 

"Viva  Vinegia  !"  shouted  Edward. 

"  Viva  Vinegia  !  Viva  Odoardo  !"  echoed  the 
mob.     Another  pause. 

"Venetians,  have  1  not  served  our  city V 
"Yes,  yes  I"  "Fought  with  youl"  "Yes, 
yes  !"  "  Shall  I  not  do  so  again — against  Car- 
rara, if  he  appear  against  us!"  "  Yes,  yes  !" 
"  Let  us  then  serve  Venice  faithfully ;  let  us 
make  her  laws  obeyed.  If  you  know  me  to  be 
traitor,  you  have  me  here,  kill  tne  now" — "  Viva 
Odoardo  !" — "  But  do  not  disgrace  yourselves 
by  warring  on  old  women — worrying  this  mise- 
rable creature  as  dogs  would  a  cat."  Pie  sud- 
denly lowered  his  voice  :  "  You,  Zanni,  tell 
rae,  what  has  this  unfortunate  done,  that  you 
were  murdering  her!" 

"Carrara!"  "the  wells!  the  wells  !"  shouted 
the  rabble. 

"  Let  Zanni  speak." 

"  Zanni  speak  !  tell,  tell  !"  was  the  shout. 

Zanni,  the  man  whose  eflbrt  to  stay  the  mob 
in  their  last  rush  had  been  observed  by  Edward, 
now  shifted  for  an  instant  on  his  feet,  half 
abashed  at  being  the  spokesman  for  injured 
Venice  ;  and  then,  with  a  much  subdued  man- 
ner, he  said,  "  By  your  favor,  sirs,  Signor  Car- 
rara has  sent  people  here  to  poison  our  wells, 
and  we  found  that  La  Gobba  is  hostess  to  the 
conspirators." 

The  nobles  lof)ked  at  each  other  aghast.  Ed- 
ward stooped  down  and  asked  the  shaking  hag 
if  that  was  true.  She  stared  at  him  with  idiot 
terror,  speechless. 

"  She  confessed  it,"  said  Zanni.  "  Yes,  yes, 
she  confessed,"  echoed  a  thousand  tongues: 
the  storm  was  rising  again. 

"  Stay,  my  friends,"  cried  Edward  ;  "  if  we 
have  traitors  among  us,  we  must  have  the 
law :  the  Ten  must  deal  with  this."  At  that 
dread   name,  those   immediately   around  him 


were  hushed.  "  Go,"  added  he,  "  go,  letch  a 
guard ;  let  us  not  suffer  her  to  escape  in  the 
disturbance."  His  humane  artifice  succeeded  ; 
and  when  the  officers  of  the  watch,  who,  in 
virtue  of  their  office  had  been  out  of  the  way, 
now  approached,  Edward  and  his  friends  had 
no  difficulty  in  consigning  the  trembling  and 
guilt-confessing  dotard  to  their  charge.  With 
a  shout  for  Edward,  and  many  another  for  Ve- 
nice, the  multitude  dispersed,  bearing  away 
their  torches,  and  leaving  the  place  of  St.  Mark 
once  more  to  the  quiet  moonlight. 


CHAPTER  VIH. 

Ne.xt  morning  all  Venice  rang  with  the  de- 
tected conspiracy.  Having  discovered  the  plot 
before  the  wells  were  poisoned,  everybody  was 
convinced  that  there  was  poison  in  the  water ; 
and  for  the  first  few  hours  of  intense  suspicion, 
wine  and  fruit  were  at  a  premium.  Morosini, 
after  a  consultation  with  the  foster  brother, 
went  to  the  senate,  to  await  the  disclosures 
anticipated  from  the  examination  of  La  Gobba 
before  the  Council  of  Ten.  With  Angiolina  and 
her  brother  there  was  no  music,  but  she  made 
him  recount  all  that  had  happened  ;  listening 
with  breathless  attention,  and  drawing  closer 
and  closer  to  the  youth,  as  he  told  of  the  terror 
of  the  wretch,  the  fury  of  the  mob,  the  bold 
humanity  of  the  Englishman,  and  his  own  share 
in  the  scene.  He  was  too  modest  and  sincere 
to  think  of  disclaiming  his  own  merit,  or  to 
think  of  it  all;  but  he  revelled  in  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  his  admiring  description  of  Edward's 
bearing  reflected  in  the  earnest  emotion  of  his 
young  sister's  face.  They  were  still  thus  en- 
gaged, when  a  servant  hastily  ushered  in  the 
hero  himself  Angiolina  rose  from  her  brother's 
arms,  blushing  rosy  red,  conscious  that  at  the 
moment  the  visitor  occupied  all  her  thoughts 
and  feelings.  Edward  hesitated  to  approach, 
fancying  that  he  had  inopportunely  intruded , 
but  Angiolina  advanced  to  him,  and  putting 
both  her  trembling  hands  in  his,  cried,  "  O 
Messer  Odoardo,  Sebastian  has  just  been  telling 
all  your  story,  and — "  she  stopped,  scarce 
knowing  what  she  was  going  to  add.  Edward, 
struck  with  delight  at  so  unexpected  a  reward 
from  the  lovely  for  his  service  to  the  hideous, 
respectfully  put  to  his  lips  one  of  the  gentle 
hands  he  held,  saying,  "  Dear  lady,  my  coun- 
trymen— indeed,  no  true  men  can  forget,  when 
any  woman  is  in  peril,  those  more  lovely  ones 
who  are  away."  For  an  instant  Angiolina 
suffered  him  to  hold  her  hands  :  his  set  compli- 
ment recalled  her  to  herself;  yet  there  was  in 
his  manner  a  something  more  than  mere  court- 
esy. She  was  struck  with  one  of  those  fits  o 
undefined  doubt  and  disappointment,  which 
sometimes  dull  impulsive  natures  ;  too  vague, 
however,  to  be  known  even  to  herself;  and 
withdrawing  her  hands,  she  put  her  arm  in  her 
brother's,  as  he  stepped  forward  to  greet  his 
friend. 

"  I  am  come,"  said  Edward,  "  to  sunmion  you 
away  :  we  must  not  delay." 

"I  am  ready,"  answered  Sebastian;  "but 
we  are  fasting  still  ;  will  you  cat!" 

"  Nav,  so  am  not  I.     But   I  must  be  cruel 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


15 


enough  to  carry  you  away  without  food  ;  for 
our  business  needs  despatch." 

"  You  are  sudden  ;  but  I  am  with  you  ;"  and 
taking  leave  of  Angiolina,  the  two  friends  de- 
parted. 

"In  the  boat  Sebastian  sought  an  explana- 
tion of  the  other's  sudden  and  anxious  manner. 
"  And  now  that  the  brawl  is  over,  dear  Ed- 
ward," said  he,  "  I  cannot  believe  this  fierce 
rumor.  Carrara  never  could  have  harbored 
such  devilish  intent.  He  has  friends  as  well  as 
foes  in  Venice — Zeno,  for  instance,  whom  he 
and  all  men  love.  Besides,  is  he  not  at  peace 
with  Venice  1" 

Edward  looked  stern  and  grave,  and  did  not 
answer  ;  but  drawing  from  his  pocket  a  paper, 
he  said,  "  Hear  what  is  written  to  me  ;"  and 
translating  as  he  went,  he  read  from  English 
this  letter. 

"  My  very  dear  and  esteemed  friend,  Master 
Edward  of  Ellyndenne,  I  have  things  to  say  to 
you  that  concern  ourselves,  and  our  friends  in 
Venice.  Signer  John  Fernandez,  who  is  known 
to  you  as  a  very  excellent  soldier,  and  the  cap- 
tain of  a  goodly  troop,  as  men  go,  hath  been 
engaged  for  service  near  Venice,  as  he  telleth 
me  ;  but  not,  as  I  suspect,  for  Venice.  He 
told  me,  that  I  might  have  the  like  service,  at 
very  good  reward.  I  told  him  I  liked  not  such 
service  as  he  thought  of;  and  he  reddened,  but 
did  not  deny  it.  This  I  said,  meaning  Carrara  ; 
and  that  is  what  I  say  now,  that  Carrara  is 
gathering  troops.  If  Venice  should  want  my 
poor  services,  I  shall  hold  myself  ready  to  your 
summons  :  if  not,  I  will  not  fight  against  any 
whose  bread  I  have  eaten  ;  nor  would,  I  think. 
many  of  my  men.  Tell  this  to  whom  you  think 
proper  ;  and  my  service  to  Master  Zeno  ;  and 
the  same  to  you. 

"From  your  friend, 

"  William  Cooke." 

Sebastian  was  silenced.  "  To  whom,"  he 
asked,  "  have  you  shown  this  letter  1" 

"  To  none  as  yet  but  you  ;  to-day  I  show  it  to 
none  ;  but  should  Zeno  not  return  from  Tenedos 
to-morrow,  I  shall  make  it  known  to  Messer 
Alberti,  my  countryman,  as  he  calls  himself 
But  dear  Sebastian,  you  are  desirous  to  take  part 
in  serving  your  country  ;  and  if  your  father  yet 
deems  you  too  young  to  do  so,"  added  Edward, 
playfully,  "your  friend  does  not :  you  shall  take 
me  to  whom  you  think  best ;  to  Messer  Al- 
berti, if  you  will." 

Sebastian's  eyes  glistened :  the  ambition 
which  he  inherited  from  his  father,  but  in  a 
more  generous  kind,  was  about  to  be  gratified. 
Pressing  Edward's  hand  with  a  tight  grasp,  he 
answered,  "  I  would  carry  it,  not  to  Alberti,  but 
to  the  doge  himself;  for  none  is  so  fit  to  know 
it  as  Andrea  Contarini." 

Edward  agreed.  In  a  few  minutes  his  gon- 
dola landed  tliem  at  the  place  of  St.  Mark,  and 
presently  tiiey  were  in  the  hall  of  the  ducal 
palace.  Of  tiie  attendants  waiting  about,  Se- 
bastian desired  one  to  bring  them  to  the  ilogc. 
Tiie  man  replied  that  the  doge  was  just  then 
on  the  point  of  going  to  the  council.  But  Ed- 
ward interposed,  saying  that  they  must  see  him 
before  he  went  to  the  council;  and  the  servant, 
hesitating  a  moment,  retired.  lie  soon  returned, 
and  ushered  tliem  into  a  small  chamber,  where 


they  found  themselves  in  the  presence  of  the 
doge. 

Andrea  Contarini  was  seated  in  a  tali  straight- 
backed  chair,  both  hands  resting  on  the  arms, 
in  the  attitude  of  a  man  who  is  waiting,  con- 
scious that  his  time  is  short.  The  weight  of 
seventy  years  had  not  bent  his  back,  nor  shrunk 
the  noble  proportions  of  liis  form,  clothed  in  a 
dark  velvet  vest ;  and  the  cares  of  state,  forced 
upon  him  as  the  dogate  had  been,  if  they  had 
doubly  blanched  his  hair,  had  not  tarnished  the 
benignity  which  illuminated  his  countenance. 
A  noble  brow,  and  an  air  of  manly  energy  and 
determination  explained  the  reason  why  the 
republic  had  compelled  him  to  be  its  chief  in 
troublous  times.  The  ducal  cap  lay  on  the  ta- 
ble beside  him,  ready  to  be  donned  ;  the  red 
robe  was  in  the  hands  of  an  attendant.  As  the 
young  men  entered,  he  exclaimed,  "Ah  !  Ser 
Inglese,  is  it  you  V  Then  ordering  his  ser- 
vants to  wait  without,  he  added,  "  Be  brief,  my 
friend ;  for  I  must  be  gone."  Edward  looked 
at  his  companion,  who  told,  in  a  few  words, 
the  purport  of  Cooke's  letter.  Edward  added, 
that  Cooke  might  be  fully  relied  on,  as  the  doge 
knew,  and  that  he  must  have  very  strong 
grounds  for*  his  statements,  as  he  used  not  to 
speak  lightly.  Contarini  looked  grave,  and 
paused  :  then  he  said,  "  This  is  the  worst  news 
we  have  had  yet.  We  may  want  the  services 
of  your  countryman,  Ser  Odoardo." 

"  So,  my  lord,  I  judged  ;  and  tlierefore  I  have 
already  written  to  Cooke,  to  say  that  I  know 
he  may  hold  himself  engaged.  The  letter  has 
not  been  sent,  as  I  did  not  mean  it ;  but  I 
thought  it  might  be  less  harmful  if  my  letter 
were  intercepted,  than  one  from  a  Venetian." 

"You  were  discreet :  you  should  know" — he 
stopped  and  glanced  at  Sebastian. 

"  My  friend  is  young,"  said  Edward,  in  an- 
swer to  the  look  ;  "  but  he  has  judgment  be 
yond  his  years  ;  and  if  I  may  be  trusted  he  may; 
for  indeed  we  are  as  one." 

"  You  should  know,"  proceeded  the  doge, 
"  that  this  miserable  old  woman,  who  owes  you 
so  much  gratitude,  Messer  Odoardo,  has  made 
confessions  :  her  brutal  son,  one  Nadale,  vvaa 
one  of  the  malefactors  who  were,  as  it  is  said, 
to  have  poisoned  our  wells,  and  hopes  of  pur- 
chasing his  life  made  her  confess.  He  too  had 
confessed  before  ;  being  a  spy  upon  all — even 
upon  his  dotard  mother.  She  admits  that  the 
crime  found  its  executors  at  her  house,  and 
that  Carrara  inspired  it ;  but  he  has,  she  says, 
higher  tools.  She  accuses  some  of  the  highest 
men  in  Venice,hitherto  deemed  Carrara's  great- 
est enemies.  Torture,  sirs,  and  fear  will  force 
lies  out  of  the  mouth  as  well  as  truth ;  and  I 
cannot  yet  believe  those  noble  gentlemen  trai- 
tors on  the  word  of  this  wretched  hag.  But 
there  is  something  bad  in  Venice,  something 
that  threatens  our  lives  even  in  our  homes. 
Your  news,  Messer  Odoardo,  completes  the 
circle  of  our  dangers  :  Genoa  is  again  in  arms 
against  us." 

"  Genoa  again  !"  exclaimed  the  youths. 

"  Aye,  Genoa  ;  and  for  a  brave  reason."  The 
old  man  continued,  v.ith  a  twinkle  of  humor  in 
his  eye  :  "  when  they  were  crowning  King  Pie- 
tro  of  Cyprus  at  Famagosta,  as  Bishop  of  Je- 
rusalem,  our  two  ambassadors  quarndled  for 
precedence.     The  Genoese,  lo.^^ing  the  coveted 


16 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


post  on  the  king's  right  hand,  fell  to  flinging 
bread  at  our  officer  ;  the  Venetians  retorted  by 
flinging  some  of  the  Genoese  out  of  the  win- 
dow :  and  Genoa  takes  her  revenge  on  our  re- 
public, unless  she  will  humbly  crave  pardon  for 
being  insulted  by  the  noble  bread  thrower. 
Venice,"  he  added  more  gravely,  "  can  meet 
them  ;  but  her  enemies  are  many." 

"  And  so,"  said  Sebastian,  "  are  her  ser- 
vants." 

"Good;  here  is  proof  of  it,"  said  Contarini, 
laying  his  hand  on  a  letter,  "this  tells  us  of 
service  done  by  the  best  of  her  servants." 

"Carlo  Zenol"  said  Edward. 

"  The  same.  In  all  parts  of  the  world  he 
writes  his  name  in  high  deeds.  He  has  seated 
Galojohannes  of  Greece  on  the  throne  from 
which  his  rebel  son  Andronicus  had  driven 
him  ;  Tenedos  given  to  Venice  is  the  token  of 
the  emperor's  gratitude,  knowing  that  Zeno 
prized  no  payment  so  well  as  that  made  to  his 
country  ;  and  on  his  way  home  he  has  stopped 
to  drive  out  the  Genoese.  But  we  want  him 
liere.  Young  men,"  proceeded  the  veteran, 
"let  that  great  man's  life,  let  his  fame,  and  the 
love  of  Venice,  teach  you  how  to  live.  Messer 
Odoardo  will  one  day  return  to  his  own  coun- 
try, but  not  without  our  affection,  nor  I  hope 
without  marks  of  our  gratitude  ;  but  you,  Se- 
bastian, will  grow  up  in  these  councils :  be 
another  Zeno,  if  you  can." 

"  I  cannot  have  a  better  master  in  that  pre- 
cept than  Odoardo,"  replied  Sebastian  warmly, 
•'  for  I  believe  that  no  man  is  prouder  of  being 
the  chosen  friend  of  Zeno." 

"  I  know  it.  But  I  must  not  dally  with  you 
gallants  while  our  grave  senators  await  me. 
Say  nothing  of  this  matter  to  others,  but  you, 
Odoardo,  send  your  letter,  and  speak  as  con- 
fidently as  you  please  :  our  good  friend  Cooke 
shall  not  lose  ;  and  you  or  Sebastian  shall  ad- 
vise me  of  his  coming.     Adieu." 

The  young  men  saluted  the  venerable  prince, 
leaving  the  room  as  his  attendants  entered, 
and  helped  him  hastily  to  assume  his  robe  of 
state. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

As  the  day  darkened,  Sebastian  could  not 
abstain  from  visiting  the  spot  where  he  had 
met  with  the  adventure  of  the  night  before. 
Some  time  he  loitered  about  near  the  dismal 
looking  house  ;  but  all  was  dark  and  silent. 
The  dull  stone  walls  and  dingy  door  gave  no 
sign  that  they  enclosed  so  fair  and  noble  a 
creature  as  the  lady  whom  he  had  rescued — for 
such  he  called  her  in  hia  thoughts,  despite  her 
coarse  gown  and  homely  veil.  It  was  as  still 
next  night ;  only  that  some  two  or  three  men 
who  stood  round  the  door  skulked  away  at  his 
approach.  His  disappointment  served  to  pique 
his  perseverance,  and  he  watched  many  even- 
ings. At  length,  one  night,  the  door  opened, 
and  from  it  appeared  the  form  that  he  had  so 
long  looked  for.  All  that  had  happened  since 
the  door  had  closed  upon  that  same  figure 
3eemed  like  a  dream.  The  woman  fastened 
ap  the  house  carefully,  and  wrapping  her  veil 
round  her,  walked  towards  the  spot  where  he 


stood,  with  a  firm  and  measured  step,  as  if  she 
braved  a  danger  which  she  feared.  When  she 
drew  near  she  caught  sight  of  his  tall  figure, 
and  stopped,  in  evident  dread.  He  approached, 
saying,  "  I  fear,  lady,  that  I  have  done  a  wrong 
which  I  would  be  the  last  to  do,  and  given  you 
some  alarm."  Recognizing  his  voice,  she  again 
walked  on,  replying,  "  I  ought  not  to  be  alarmed 
at  that  voice  ;  but  weakness  is  fearful."  There 
was  something  in  her  manner  that  fascinated 
Sebastian  into  forgetfulness  of  all  but  the 
stranger  before  him  :  a  favorite  with  women, 
he  never  felt  so  diflident ;  not  inexperienced  in 
gallantries,  he  never  thought  of  the  singular 
inconsistency  of  the  woman's  lowly  garb  with 
her  speech  and  bearing ;  he  thought  not  of 
seeing  her  thus  walking  in  the  street,  and 
alone  !  He  forgot  his  own  habits,  the  customs 
and  suspicions  of  society,  the  woman's  strange- 
ness— everything  but  that  he  was  talking  to 
one  of  the  better  part  of  the  human  race. 
Involuntarily  dropping  the  tone  of  compliment, 
he  said,  in  a  low  and  earnest  voice,  "  Would  I 
were  allowed  to  be  your  guard.  I  have  kept 
watch  here  each  night  since  I  first  saw  you  in 
your  danger  ;  will  you  not  let  me  attend  youl" 

She  stopped,  and  looked  in  his  face.  "No, 
it  may  not  be.  It  should  be  right  that  your 
goodness  should  not  be  repulsed,  but  it  is  not 
right." 

"  Nay,  the  very  thing  that  makes  your  dan- 
ger is  a  shield  for  you — it  is  dark,  and  your 
attendant  will  be  unknown." 

The  girl  answered  slowly,  as  if  half  thinking 
— "  I  am  used  to  be  unprotected  ;  I  scarcely 
fear ;  and  in  the  worst  danger  I  ever  had,  Ggod 
sent  succor.  It  is  not  I  that  need  to  dread 
being  seen,  whoever  is  my  companion  ;  but 
no,"  she  added,  more  decidedly,  "you  must  not 
do  this.  You  have  served  me  ;  and  I  never 
shall  forget  it ;  but  you  must  not  bring  reproach 
upon  me." 

"  Reproach  !  Oh,  how  little  could  I  .'o  so  I 
But  you  said  just  now  that  you  feared  not  to  be 
seen." 

"  You  mistake  me :  no  reproaches  such  as 
you  think  can  touch  me  :  I  am  beneath  them — 
and  above  them."  With  a  painful  revulsion  at 
these  equivocal  words,  Sebastian's  feelings 
were  thrown  back  upon  the  world,  as  he  looked 
at  the  unknown  being  before  him.  She  pro- 
ceeded, in  the  same  low  voice,  as  if  it  bor- 
rowed music  from  her  heart  itself,  "  there  is 
none  to  reproach  me,  but  me."  Sebastian's 
breast  was  relieved  of  the  uneasy  doubt  that 
cramped  it  with  cold,  though  he  was  not  much 
enliglitened  ;  but  still  he  listened.  "Besides," 
she  continued  with  a  smile,  which  he  heard  in 
her  accents  rather  than  saw  in  the  dim  light, 
"  I  can  give  you  plain  reasons  why  you  could 
not  go  with  me  now." 

"Whyl" 

"  I  am  going  on  a  very  humble  errand — to 
fetch  home  some  bread." 

"  And  why  cannot  I  wait  upon  you,  and 
carry  your  food  too  V 

"  No,  no  ;  you  forget  who  you  are." 

"  Do  you  know  me,  then  1" 

"  Only  that  you  are  of  noble  station,  and  that 
only  by  your  manner.  1  shall  meet  no  new 
harm.  I  do  but  what  I  do  daily,  though  no| 
always  so  late."     And  she  moved  forward 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


17 


"  Since  you  forbid  me  to  follow  you,"  said 
the  youth,  "  I  must  obey.  But  you  cannot 
forbid  my  watching  you  at  a  distance  ;  and  I 
am  a  better  watchman  for  that  I  have  studied 
the  art  lately."  She  walked  on,  silent.  Se- 
l)astian  exclaimed,  "  One  word.  I  have  not 
displeased  youl"  She  turned  her  face  to  him 
— it  was  melancholy  almost  to  grief;  in  a  tone 
scarcely  audible,  she  answered  with  the  one 
word,  "No."  Sebastian  fell  back,  and  allowed 
hor  to  pass  on  alone. 

He  just  kept  her  in  sight  as  she  traversed  a 
few  streets,  on  foot ;  she  entered  a  baker's 
shop,  and  returned.  He  stood  aside  in  another 
street  while  she  went  by,  and  watched  her  to 
her  own  door  again. 

Attending  to  the  public  business  of  the  day, 
in  which  Edward  procured  him  a  share,  by 
throwing  his  influence  and  information  into  his 
stock,  the  young  noble  watched  each  night  at 
the  door  of  the  house.  He  was  more  fortunate 
than  he  had  at  first  been,  for  the  journey  for 
bread  happened  to  occur  at  night  more  fre- 
iiuently  than  he  had  hoped.  Gradually  the 
girl  seemed  to  grow  more  accustomed  to  the 
meeting;  and  even  tacitly  to  acknowledge  a 
kind  of  pleasure  at  his  protection.  Gradually, 
loo,  the  mere  passing  word  grew  into  a  con- 
versation, which  extended  part  way  to  the  now 
familiar  baker's  shop,  and  back  again.  His 
unknown  friend  did  not  take  the  youth  into  her 
confidence  ;  but  he  gathered  from  things  she  let 
I'all,  that  she  was  without  male  protectors,  and 
that  only  one  other  woman  lived  with  her  ;  and 
iliat  they  were  in  great  poverty.  At  the  thought, 
itie  gold  in  his  own  purse  seemed  to  burn 
against  his  bosom  ;  he  thought,  not  enviously, 
ytt  painfully,  of  the  dainties  which  were  his 
dear  sister's  daily  food  ;  yet  he  dared  not  even 
think  of  offering  help.  He  kept  a  guard  on 
every  word  he  uttered,  fearful  of  being  exiled 
from  a  presence  now  becoming  dear  to  him. 
^'et  surely  never  was  wooing  stranger  than 
his  !  The  subject  of  their  short  conversations 
were  few  ;  and  the  colloquy  usually  consisted 
of  such  remarks  as  he  found  best  calculated  to 
tlraw  from  the  veiled  form  beside  him  snatches 
of  a  simple  wisdom  which  she  seemed  to  have 
I'.xtracted  from  the  very  poverty  that  cramps 
and  benumbs  so  many  minds  and  hearts. 

For  some  nights  this  lesson  was  denied  to 
liim;  his  friend  came  not.  At  length,  the 
bread  journey  again  occurred  at  night,  and 
Sebastian  saw  the  girl  to  her  own  door.  In- 
stead of  entering,  as  usual,  she  stopped,  and, 
after  a  pause,  said,  "I  must  now  say  farewell. 
This  is  the  last  time  that  I  shall  go  out  at  night." 

Sebastian  felt  a  blow  that  a  few  weeks  be- 
fore would  have  been  a  marvel  to  himself 
Turning  as  pale  as  death,  he  exclaimed,  "The 
last  time  !" 

"The  last,"  she  said;  "it  must  be  so." 
She  took  his  hand — the  first  time  that  he  had 
held  it  since  the  night — and  her  voice  slightly 
trembled. 

"The  last!  Why  1  why,  the  last  timel 
May  I  know  thati  Have  I  done  aught  to 
offend  you  !" 

"No,  indeed.  I  have  been  only  too  little 
displeased.  But  do  not  punish  me  for  not 
letting  it  be  the  last  time,  without  bidding  you 
farewell." 

O 


"You  could  not  have  been  so  cruel !"  Se- 
bastian, bolder  than  he  bad  ever  felt,  firmly 
held  the  hand  which  had  been  placed  in  iii.s, 
and  with  fervid  entreaty  persuaded  her  to  tell 
him  why  it  was  to  be  the  last  time.  Latter- 
ly, she  told  him,  after  he  had  seen  her  safe 
at  home,  he  had  hurried  away  to  confer  with 
Edward  on  some  of  the  arrangements  of  the 
period ;  and  on  the  night  when  he  had  las 
seen  her,  she  had  been  obliged  to  go  out  again 
and  again  she  met  the  ruffian  from  whom  h^ 
rescued  her.  This  time  he  offered  no  violence  ; 
but  she  had  much  difficulty  in  escaping  from 
the  outrage  of  his  importunity. 

Sebastian's  cheeks  burned  as  he  listencil. 
"What  a  recreant  was  I  to  leave  you,  and  not 
to  watch  later!  But  why  keep  within,  when 
you  know  that  I  am  here  to  protect  youl" 

"  No,  my  friend  ;  you  rescued  me  once,  but 
I  vi^ill  not  make  dangers  for  you  to  meet." 

Partly  by  gentle  threats,  however,  that  he 
should  still  watch  on,  though  hopeless  of  seeing 
her,  Sebastian  wrung  from  his  companion  a 
promise  that  her  determination  should  not  he 
finally  put  in  force  that  night.  He  left  her, 
full  of  thought ;  for  the  process  which  any  spec- 
tator could  have  discovered  to  him  from  the 
first,  was  now  revealed  to  himself,  and  he  knew 
that  he  loved,  without  knowing  whom  !  Love 
at  first  sight  he  had  laughed  at,  yet  he  was 
almost  its  victim.  Love  of  a  total  stranger 
would  have  been  equally  ridiculous ;  yet,  he 
asked  himself,  do  not  I,  who  have  so  often 
been  that  lovely,  ingenuous  face,  and  heard 
that  truthful  voice,  know  more  of  the  being 
than  of  many  whose  names  I  know  and  have 
known  for  years.  The  answer  of  his  heart 
was  quite  satisfactory. 

The  bread  journeys  at  night,  however,  weie 
stopped  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  X. 

When  Sebastian  approached  the  house  next 
night,  he  was  surprised  to  see  the  door  open. 
So  unusual  a  circumstance  filled  him  with  an 
undefined  alarm.  He  drew  nigh,  and  fancied 
that  he  heard  the  sound  of  men's  voices.  lie 
entered,  and  found  himself  in  as  desolate  a 
hall  as  he  had  ever  seen.  The  sound  of  voices 
led  him  up  stairs  ;  but  he  went  cautiously,  and 
with  a  feeling  of  hesitation,  like  one  who  fear- 
ed that  he  was  trespassing.  The  noise  grew 
louder  as  he  advanced  ;  it  was  a  rude  gabble  ;, 
he  was  certain  that  there  were  enemies  in.  the 
house — possibly  the  one  whom  he  had  repuls- 
ed, and  he  hastened  forward.  He  passed  an 
ante-chamber  and  two  rooms  bare  of  all  furni- 
ture whatsoever,  as  though  it  were  a  deserted 
house.  The  next  room  had  in  it  a  table,  a  few 
chairs,  and  some  few  articles  of  domestic  use. 
But  he  noted  nothing,  for  in  the  next  were  the 
voices,  loud  and  brutal.  He  stopped  at  tht 
door,  seeing  that  it  was  a  bedroom.  Not  fai 
from  him,  with  their  backs  to  him,  were  four 
men.  One,  the  loudest  of  all,  seemed  a  serving 
man  ;  the  others  were  an  officer  of  the  gover- 
nor and  soldiers  of  the  police.  Beyond  them, 
near  the  opposite  corner  of  the  room,  was  a 
bed,  b;ire  of  all'  furniture,  and  covered  with  the 


18 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


commonest  clothing.  In  it  was  a  woman  of 
middle  age,  whom  he  knew  at  once  to  be  the 
mother  ot"  the  girl  in  whose  fate  he  had  grown 
so  strangely  interested.  Her  grayish  brown 
h.air  had  strayed  from  the  white  kerchief  that 
hound  it  together ;  her  hollow  eyes  glowed 
ihrough  the  weight  of  sickness  with  a  death- 
like lire  ;  her  nostrils  and  lips  quivered  with 
feverish  emotion  ;  and  as  she  leant  on  one 
hand  and  stretched  forth  the  other  to  forbid  ap- 
(iinach,  the  sleeve  of  her  bed  gown  fell  back 
;iiid  disclosed  the  ravages  of  disease  in  shrink- 
ing her  once  fine  form.  Beside  her  stood  the 
(im-  Sebastian  now  knew  so  well :  the  girl  sup- 
ported her  mother  in  her  arms,  and  looked 
towards  the  men  as  if  expecting  that  the  voice 
of  sutTering  would  cast  a  spell  upon  their  ruffian 
rudeness. 

"  It  is  not  our  affair,"  said  the  officer;  "  Ja- 
copo  Arduino  is  in  the  house,  and  if  we  would 
not  lose  our  own  heads  we  must  have  the 
traitor."' 

"  Jacopo  Arduino,"  cried  the  sick  woman,  in 
a  hollow  voice,  "  is  no  traitor — unfortunate, 
miserable  he  has  been,  but  you  are  traitors 
that  call  him  so.  There  are  none  here  but 
those  you  see  :  begone  ;  let  death  and  misery 
protect  us — begone  !  I  see,"  she  cried  more 
vehemently,  "  I  see  that  you  come  here  to  tor- 
ture me  for  the  crime  of  my  youth  ;  you  are 
sent  here — I  see  it — I  see  it — to  taunt  me  with 
the  wrong  I  did  to  Jacopo  when  we  were  young, 
and  to  make  me  know  all  the  bitterness  the 
peasant  girl  brought  to  his  proscribed  house. 
Go,  go  ;  it  is  enough." 

"Mother  1"  said  the  girl  soothingly.  The 
woman  looked  up  in  her  face  ;  and  as  the 
daughter  bent  down  to  reassure  and  control 
her,  the  two  looked  like  a  protecting  angel  and 
a  penitent. 

"  Well,  sirs,"  said  the  serving  man,  "  if  you 
are  to  be  scared  from  your  duty  by  a  whining 
woman,  you  may  chance  to  be  the  worse  for 
it.  I  dare  say  the  gentleman,  like  a  worthy 
husband,  is  in  his  good  dame's  bed  there, 
before  our  very  eyes." 

"  Aye,  Nadale,"  replied  the  officer,  "  truly 
there  are  not  many  other  hiding  places  in  this 
barren  house.  We  will  search  it."  He  made 
a  step  forward. 

The  sick  woman  clasped  her  hands,  and 
looked  at  the  men  in  delirious  terror.  Her 
daughter  quickly  but  gently  put  her  back  upon 
the  cushions  from  which  she  had  raised  her- 
self, and  also  making  one  step  forward,  so  as 
to  shield  her  parent,  drew  from  her  bosom  a 
knife,  such  as  the  men  had  oftener  seen  in  the 
hands  of  their  fellows  than  in  a  girl's  hold. 
Placing  her  left  foot  forward,  she  threw  her 
armed  right  hand  back,  and  firmly  fixed  her 
eye  upon  the  group,  ready  to  strike  the  first 
that  advanced. 

They  paused.  "  Oh,  oh  !"  cried  the  serving 
man,  "  the  girl  is  a  fighter.  Bravo,  let  us  try 
her  mettle,  masters."  Again  the  officer  was 
about  to  move,  when  a  voice  behind  him  called, 
"  Hold,  ribalds  !  what  make  you  here  1"  They 
turned  round,  and  beheld  Sebastian.  Submit- 
ting less  to  the  stern  voice  and  powerful  form 
of  the  young  man,  than  to  his  gallant  dress 
and  air  of  command,  the  man  of  law  explain- 
ed  lliat   they  were  in  &eixrck  xif  .one  Jacopo  i 


Arduino,  whom  the  man  with  them  knew  to 
be  in  the  house  ;  but  his  wife  and  daughter 
audaciously  denied  it.  Sebastian  looked  to 
their  guide,  and  in  him  he  recognized,  with 
small  pleasure,  a  man  whom  he  had  used  to 
regard  as  a  kind  of  servant  to  the  foster  brother, 
though  he  had  no  recognized  place  in  his 
father's  household.  A  suspicion  flashed  across 
his  mind  that  the  ravisher  whom  he  had  en- 
countered was  no  other  than  the  cold  Ales- 
sandro.  He  was  about  angrily  to  drive  the 
men  from  the  room,  but  the  young  statesman's 
deference  for  the  law  of  the  republic,  and  per- 
haps some  desire  to  get  rid  of  the  men  as 
quickly  as  possible,  checked  him.  "  You  have 
found  no  one  in  the  house  V  he  asked. 

The  men  shrugged  their  shoulders.  "  This 
good  man,  sir,"  said  the  officer,  "  says  that 
perhaps  in  that  bed — " 

"  That  bed  is  sacred,  ruffian,  even  from 
your  suspicions.     Begone  !" 

Seeing  that  farther  altercation  was  useless, 
if  not  dangerous,  the  bold  assertors  of  the  law- 
retreated. 

Sebastian  looked  towards  the  bed.  Bianca 
Arduino  had  perceived  the  protection  whu-ii 
came  to  her  sick  couch  as  from  heaven,  ani 
she  sank,  half  swooning,  half  slumbering  into  .i 
state  of  placid  unconsciousness.  Teresa  knelt 
by  the  bed,  and  bent  over  her  mother  in  alarm. 
Sebastian  too  drew  softly  near,  and  gazfd 
upon  that  care-worn  face.  After  some  mo- 
ments, he  whispered,  "  She  sleeps."  Tere?.,i 
started  round  at  his  voice  and  looked  in  his 
face — "  A  second  time  !"  she  cried,  as  she 
snatched  his  hand,  and  pressing  on  it  one  pas- 
sionate kiss,  she  leant  her  brow  upon  it  in  an 
uncontrolled  burst  of  tears.  For  a  few  mo- 
ments Sebastian  permitted  his  hand  to  receive 
that  unwonted  and  too  delicious  homage  ;  then 
gently  clasping  one  of  those  which  held  it,  he 
raised  his  charge  from  the  ground,  and,  for  the 
second  time,  folding  his  arm  around  her,  sought 
to  soothe  her  with  assurances  of  safety  for  her- 
self and  that  dearer  one  whose  case  he  now 
knew.  Teresa  buried  her  face  in  both  her 
hands,  and  listened  in  silence.  She  trembled 
violently.  "  You  are  ill,"  cried  Sebastian  ; 
"  do,  dearest  lady,  stay  this  passion  of  terror. 
Think  that  you  have  now  a  guard  that  never 
W'ill  leave  you,  except  in  safety."  "Still  she 
spoke  not.  He  tried  to  take  her  hand  from  her 
face  ;  but  she  yielded  not.  He  used  a  sliglu 
force,  and  then  she  suffered  him  to  take  away 
her  hand  ;  but  turned  her  head  aside.  "  Un- 
fortunate that  I  am,"  he  cried,  "  whenever  I 
seek  most  to  serve  you,  my  foolish  heart 
makes  me  offend."  Putting  her  hand  again  to 
her  eyes,  Teresa  pressed  her  brow,  and  by  a 
strong  effort  recalled  her  strength.  "You 
could  never  now  offend,"  she  said  slowly,  and 
deliberately,  "  though  you  trampled  on  me. 
You  have  saved  me  twice,  and  twice  again,  in 
that  dear  mother  ;  would  that  in  doing  so  you 
could  have  saved  something  that  would  repay 
you."  She  disengaged  herself  from  his  arm, 
and  turning  her  pale  face  full  on  his,  she  con- 
tinued :  "  You  now  know  that  you  have  served 
the  daughter  of  a  gentleman,  so  unfortunate 
and  so  poor,  that  men  dare  call  him  traitoi 
— a  race  so  wretched,  that  their  very  indigence 
stamps   reproach   uoon  them,  and  makes  ser 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


19 


vice  to  them  a  disgrace./  It  is,  too,  the  last 
misery  of  poverty  that  it  cannot  be  grateful ; 
having  nought  left  but  itself,  it  cannot  even 
give  itself  away,  for  it  is  a  cursed  gift.  You 
served  me  once,  and  I  could  think  of  no  return, 
but  to  leave  you  :  you  serve  me  again,  and 
still  I  have  nothing  but  that — you  must  come 
no  more." 

"  Dear  lady,"  cried  Sebastian,  with  some- 
thing more  of  obstinacy  than  he  had  yet  ven- 
tured upon,  "you  have  now  a  protector,  one 
too  to  protect  your  mother ;  and  never  again 
shall  you  lose  it.  No,  I  can  ask  your  own 
heart,  if  I  should  leave  you  thus  pale  and  trem- 
bling, or  if  I  should  not  shield  that  poor  suffer- 
er's bed."  With  earnest  persuasion,  urged  in 
words  so  little  akin  to  gallantry  that  they 
might  have  been  addressed  from  one  sister  to 
another,  Sebastian  obtained  permission  to  stop 
for  a  time. 

His  foot  touched  against  the  knife  which 
Teresa  had  let  fall  in  bending  over  her  mother. 
He  stooped  and  picked  it  up  ;  and  for  a  moment 
he  looked  upon  it,  thinking  on  the  fears  that 
could  have  placed  it  in  the  hand  that  had  held 
it.  Teresa  seemed  to  divine  his  thoughts,  and 
she  told  him  to  put  it  aside.  "You  could  not 
have  used  hV  he  said.  "Oh,  I  could,  I 
could!"  she  cried;  "you  do  not  know  what 
the  poor  and  helpless  endure.  How  could 
you  ■?  You  do  not  do  the  wrongs  they  suffer, 
for  you  are  not  base  and  tyrannous  :  you  do 
not  suffer,  for  you  are  strong  and  powerful ;  you 
do  not  see  these  things  ;  and  the  poor  have  not 
always  such  as  you  near  them.  That  is  a  cruel 
friend  that  one  can  ahvays  have.  But  put  it 
away — I  cannot  take  it  from  your  hand — I  can 
never  touch  it  again." 

"  You  should  not  need  it  again.  I  was  to 
blame  in  that  I  left  you  so  unprotected."  He 
put  the  knife  upon  a  table  by  him.  "  This  hand 
was  not  made  to  hold  such  things,"  respectful- 
ly kissing  it. 

"  That  hand,"  she  answered,  "  must  perforce 
do  things  it  was  not  made  for  ;  and  its  first 
duty  is  to  keep  vileness  and"  danger  from  this 
house."     She  pointed  to  her  mother's  bed. 

Bianca  stirred,  and  he  retreated  to  the  next 
chamber ;  where,  after  he  had  been  down 
stairs  to  fasten  the  house  door,  he  was  soon 
joined  by  'i'eresa.  Her  mother,  she  told  him, 
slept  more  tranquilly  than  she  had  long  done. 

He  led  the  exhausted  girl  to  a  chair,  and 
taking  one  beside  her,  he  had  that  night  a 
longer  conversation  than  any  that  the  bread 
journeys  had  afforded.  Though  she  still  ab- 
stained from  telling  him  all  the  secrets  of  their 
poverty,  he  gathered  from  the  snatches  of  her 
explanations  that  her  father,  Jacopo  Arduino, 
was  a  decayed  merchant,  which  indeed  he  knew 
before  ;  that  since  his  misfortunes  a  wandering 
disposition  had  seized  him,  his  object  being  to 
fall  upon  some  enterprise  to  benefit  his  family, 
and  his  occupation  to  serve  every  body  but  his 
family ;  that  in  despair  at  her  mother's  in- 
creasing malady,  her  brave  young  brother, 
Ranieri,  had  set  out  in  search  of  his  father, 
whom  they  secretly  suspected  to  be  at  Padua ; 
snd  that  in  the  mean  time  a  foul  charge  had 
been  l)rought  against  him  !)y  some  humpbacked 
woman,  of  being  employed  by  Carrara  to  poi- 
Ror,  the  wells  of  Venice  !     Sebastian  listened 


in  mingled  delight  and  agony.  That  the  crea- 
ture before  him  could  be  allied  with  treason 
was  impossible — her  face  was  truth  itself  He 
was  little  inclined  to  believe  ill  of  Jacopo, 
whose  name  he  had  heard  with  praise  in  the 
revered  mouth  ol  Carlo  Zeno  ;  yet  his  uncon- 
sciously acknowledged  presence  in  Padua,  the 
undeniable  existence  of  the  conspiracy,  Jaco- 
po's  vagabond  habits  and  desperate  fortunes, 
crowded  upon  Sebastian's  mind.  Did  he  think 
of  abandoning  the  ill-fated  daughter  of  the  sup- 
posed traitor!  He  thought  nothing  of  the  kind 
— he  scarcely  thought  at  all,  except  of  her  im- 
mediate safety,  and  of  the  strange  progress  he 
had  made  in  her  confidence  ;  so  that  midnight 
foiimd  him  still  talking  with  her  in  the  humble 
room.  Truly  he  had  earned  her  confidence, 
by  the  fraternal  discretion  of  his  bearing;  and 
when  it  is  remembered  he  had  not  long  reach- 
ed manhood,  the  discretion  of  his  behavior 
will  be  admitted  as  more  remarkable  than  the 
indiscretion.  At  length  Teresa  declared  it 
impossible  that  the  house  could  again  be  dis- 
turbed, and  begged  him  to  return  to  his  home. 
With  a  sigh  he  rose,  and  after  many  cautions 
to  her  to  admit  none  but  those  whose  voice  she 
knew — should  she  know  his  1  he  asked — could 
he  doubt  iti  he  kissed  her  hand,  and  took  his 
leave.  But  he  went  no  farther  than  the  street. 
All  night  the  house  was  still  and  safe.  When 
it  was  broad  day-light,  Sebastian  repaired  to 
Edward's  lodging,  wishing  to  be  first  seen 
where  he  was  safe  from  inquiries. 

From  that  time  Sebastian  did  not  wait  out- 
side the  house.  ]^ianca  had  no  recollection  of 
his  appearance,  scarcely  of  the  scene  at  all ; 
and  Teresa  hesitated  to  agitate  her  by  intro- 
ducing to  her  Sebastian.  There  was  another 
reason  that  deterred  her  :  Sebastian  had  nevei 
told  her  his  name,  and  without  positively  in- 
tending it,  she  was  not  reluctant  to  defer  the 
introduction  of  her  anonymous  protector.  The 
trouble  to  which  she  had  been  exposed  had 
taught  her  self-reliance  ;  and  perhaps  it  was 
too  great  confidence  in  that  which  made  her 
admit  the  visits  of  her  new  friend.  Destitute 
of  all  that  is  usually  taken  to  constitute  com- 
fort, she  had  in  some  sort  resigned  herself  to 
the  course  of  events  ;  reconcihng  herself  to  the 
solace  of  passing  good  ;  confident  that  when  it 
did  pass,  and  the  evil  followed,  she  could  bear 
it,  as  she  had  so  well  learned  to  do.  It  was 
the  course  of  the  profligate's  philosophy ;  but 
none  was  more  opposite  to  the  profligate  than 
Teresa,  whose  self-denial  eked  out  the  slender 
means  of  her  family.  She  thought  that  she  saw 
Sebastian's  character  open  before  her,  as  a 
book :  he  hoped  that  it  was  so  ;  and  in  fact  it 
was.  She  received  him  as  he  deserved  to  be 
received ;  content  to  see  him  no  more  when 
the  tide  of  time  should  have  borne  him  to  a 
distance.  Of  that  Sebastian  took  no  thought: 
she  did. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


Within  the  hour,  the  account  of  Sebastian's 
rescue  of  the  women  reached  the  foster-brother. 
The  cunning  bully  Nadale  told  the  story,  not 
without  an  effort  to  raise  his  master's  choler 
against  the  untoward  arrogance  of  the  young 


20 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


man  ,  but  Alessandro  listened  as  if  all  went  as 
he  haJ  ordered  it.  Nor  was  he  altogether  dis- 
pleased. The  tale  finished,  he  dismissed  his 
retainer,  and  patiently  waited  until  the  senator 
should  next  seek  him.  Accordingly,  it  was  not 
long  before  Morosini  roused  him  from  the  read- 
ing of  the  Latin  manuscript  which  he  held  in 
his  hand.  He  turned  his  head,  and  quietly  lis- 
tened to  what  his  lord  had  to  say. 

"Alessandro,"  said  Morosini,  "I  fear  me 
that  there  is  something  astir  which  we  know 
not.  It  was  told  us  in  the  senate,  to-day,  that 
the  ports  of  the  Lagune  are  to  be  defended. 
Do  they  look  for  the  Genoese  so  suddenly  1" 

No  look  of  surprise  escaped  the  stern  coun- 
tenance of  the  foster  brother.  He  replied,  as 
often  was  his  wont,  by  passing  beyond  the  ques- 
tion to  another.  "  And  you,  Morosini,  have 
charge  of  the  defences'!'' 

"  They  are  not  yet  settled." 

"  Who  spake  of  it  V 

"  Piero  Mocenigo,  and  the  doge  after  him." 

"  Then  it  will  be  done.  You  will  have  charge 
ofit  !" 

"  I  know  not :  they  seemed  to  look  to  Pietro 
Romano." 

'•  Nay,  he  is  of  the  doge's  council,  and  none 
of  the  »;gnory  can  be  spared  from  Venice.  Of 
all  the  statesmen  of  Venice, — those,  I  mean,  of 
trust  and  power, — .Marco  Morosini  alone  is  un- 
employed in  preparing  for  her  defence  ;  and  not 
to  give  him  this  service,  were  to  humble  him  in 
the  very  eyes  of  Venice.     You  claimed  it!" 

"  Indeed  I  did  not.  I  had  not  spoken  of  it 
yet  to  you,  and  it  did  not  strike  me,  as  now  it 
does.     I  was  to  blame."         • 

"  True.  But  it  can  be  done  to-morrow.  Mo- 
rosini, I  have  something  of  more  importance  to 
treat  of.  You  know,  Marco,  that  on  one  only 
thing  do  I  hold  you  foolish,  even  to  your  own 
disgrace." 

"  I  know,"  replied  Morosini,  with  the  ease  of 
a  man  confessing  to  a  sin  of  which  he  feels  no 
shame  ;  or  rather  with  the  satisfaction  of  one, 
who,  in  suffering  the  penance  for  an  acknow- 
ledged fault,  earns  a  title  to  a  thousand  other 
virtues. 

"  I  fear  me  that  in  this, — would  it  were  in  all 
things — hut  in  this  I  fear  me  your  son  is  but 
too  like  you." 

"  Sebastian,"  said  the  senator,  philosophical- 
ly, "  is  like  others  of  his  years  ;  but  I  have  noted 
in  him  no  e.\cess  of  indulgence.  Alessandro, 
on  these  matters  you  are  too  austere.  You 
seek,  friend,  in  this  austerity  to  exalt  yourself 
above  some  stain,  which  men  have  said  is  in 
your  blood,  though  I  believe  it  not  ;  but  Sebas- 
tian needs  no  such  rigid  care  :  he  knows  tliat 
things  are  forgiven  to  his  blood,  which  are  de- 
nied to  the  baser  ;  ana  who  shall  tell  him  it  is 
not  so  ? 

"  At  least,  then,  if  he  n  ust  inherit  the  vice 
in  his  race,  to  wliic'a  I — i/.e  Holy  Virgin  be 
thanked — am  too  humble  to  pretend — at  least 
let  him  not,  in  his  vile  passions,  oppose  himself 
treasonably  to  the  decrees  of  the  state.  And 
at  least,"  continued  the  foster  brother,  with  a 
show  of^  increasing  warmth — "  at  least  let  him 
not  cross  his  father  in  these  pursuits  of  shame. 
If  you,  .Marco,  will  not  be  an  example  to  teach 
tlie  boy,  let  him  not  come  where  you  are  an  ex- 
ample to  hica  of  folly  and  wickedness. 


"  What  mean  you  V 

'•  I  mean  that,  if  you  must  have  the  .laughteT 
of  a  proclaimed  traitor  for  your  vile  plaything, 
Sebastian  must  not  be  the  bully  of  that  shame- 
Jess  wench,  to  defend  her  from  the  conspquencea 
of  her  father's  crime." 

Morosini  turned  pale  and  red  by  turns ;  but 
he  still  awaited  turllier  answer. 

"  You  have  told  me  yourself,  that  the  Ten 
have  detected  the  one  that  disgraces  tiie  name 
of  Arduino,  in  league  with  the  traitor  Carrara, 
or  I  should  not  have  understood  what  has  hap- 
pened ;  the  officers  of  justice  were  seeking  Ja- 
copo  in  his  house  ;  when  Sebastian  entered  and 
drove  them  out — entered  as  if  it  were  his  ac- 
customed home — into  Biaiica's  very  bed-cham- 
ber !  Think  you  it  is  Bianca  that  your  son  visits  ? 
Now  do  you  understand  me  !" 

Morosini's  glassy  eyes  glow-ed  with  rage,  and 
his  scattered  beard  bristled  from  his  face,  as  he 
clenched  his  lips  and  teeth.  He  was  about  has- 
tily to  leave  the  room. 

Alessandro  called  him  back.  "  Stay,  do  not 
oetray  yourself,  Marco,  to  the  boy." 

"  Nay,  the  boy  crossed  me  there  once  al- 
ready. I  thought  he  knew  not ;  I  could  not 
hold  him  to  be  so  audacious — I  thought  it  but  a 
chance  ;  but  this  is  past  endurance." 

"Stay,  stay:  Venice  claims  your  first 
thoughts.  About  this  matter,  Morosini,  of 
the  defences — you  must  possess  the  manage- 
ment, by  teaching  the  senate  how  to  do  the 
thing." 

Morosini  listened.  His  rage  subsided,  while 
Alessandro  described  to  him  a  method  of  clos- 
ing the  ports  with  piles  and  chains  ;  caution- 
ing him  to  begin  at  the  port  of  Lido  and  the 
openings  to  the  north  ofit ;  as  a  stranger  might 
naturally  seize  those  first.  The  senator  was 
ddigent  in  his  lessons. 

"And  Sebastian!"  he  asked,  as  the  foster 
brother  finished. 

"  We  will  watch  him.  Meanwhile,  you  can 
employ  him  at  the  sea-shore." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SEBASTi-iN  seldom  sought  the  company  of  his 
father,  and  for  two  days  alter  the  conversation 
between  Morosini  and  the  foster  brother,  he 
saw  him  not  at  all.  On  the  third  morning,  his 
father  suddenly  entered  the  saloon  where  he 
sal  with  his  sister,  and  desired  him  to  attend 
upon  him.  Sebastian  obeyed  in  silent  surprise. 
With  the  foster  brother,  they  entered  a  gondo- 
la, but  at  the  place  of  St.  Mark  they  passed  in- 
to a  galley,  which  rowed  swiftly  away.  Un- 
easy tlioughts  beset  him  as  they  left  behind 
them  Venice  and  its  palaces,  and  stretched  forth 
in  the  channel  of  St.  Mark.  At  Lido  they  land- 
ed, and  here  for  the  first  time  he  learned  that 
he  was  a  prisoner  in  the  service  of  his  father, 
who  was  charged  with  superintending  the  con- 
struction of  tiie  defences.  They  took  up  their 
lodging  in  a  small  house  on  the  shore,  which 
had  been  fitted  up,  as  best  might  be,  for  their 
use.  Until  night,  Morosini  and  his  attendants 
were  busily  engaged  in  surveying  the  works, 
which  iiad  already  been  begun.  The  evening 
wore  away,  and  it  was  past  midnight,   before 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


21 


Sebastian  was  released  to  resign  himself  to  bed, 
— sleepless,  but  not  because  the  bed  was  hard 
as  beseemed  a  camp.  The  unprotected  Teresa 
haunted  hiui  all  night ;  and  Itie  thought  more 
than  once  crossed  him,  of  escaping  in  the  dark, 
and  returning  before  dawn.  But  the  fear  of  at- 
tracting notice  to  his  frequent  retreat,  deterred 
him.  He  rose  betimes,  impatient  of  his  bed  ; 
and  leaving  his  father  still  asleep,  sallied  forth 
to  busy  his  thoughts  about  the  works  ;  which 
proceeded  night  and  day.  As  he  approached 
the  water-side,  he  saw  through  the  mist,  which 
drifted  in  from  the  sea,  Alessandro  already  at 
his  post,  as  Morosini's  messenger;  and  with 
him  was  a  man  much  shorter  than  the  tall  Pad- 
uan,  though  still  no  dwarf  in  height ;  and  what 
he  waiited  in  height  he  had  in  girth,  for  his  belt 
would  have  taken  in  two  or  three  of  his  stal- 
wart companion.  A  close  cap  was  on  his  head  ; 
and  his  gray  hair  and  beard,  thickly  curling, 
were  cut  close  to  his  full  and  ruddy  cheeks.  A 
large  brown  cloak,  drawn  tightly  round,  made 
him  look,  as  he  slowly  carried  himself  along, 
like  an  animated  bale  of  goods. 

"Holy  Virgin!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  loud 
voice,  and  all  his  jocund  face  beaming  with  de- 
light, while  he  flung  his  arms  and  ample  cloak 
apart,  "  is  there  not  our  dear  Sebastian,  leaving 
all  the  pining  fair  of  Venice,  to  brave  winds  and 
waves  among  sailors  and  workmen  I  Embrace 
me,  boy  ;  by  Bacchus,  it  turns  business  to  a 
holiday  to  have  our  dear  Sebastian  with  us." 

Sebastian  embraced  his  uncle  Luigi — sur- 
named  II  Grasso,  from  his  fatness, — with  more 
than  usual  warmth  ;  so  did  it  gladden  him  to  see 
one  loving  friend  in  what  already  seemed  his 
long  exile. 

"  Here  is  this  learned  man,  boy,"  cried  the 
noble,  with  such  a  voice  as  if  he  would  make 
all  Venice  hear  him,  "  would  persuade  me  that 
we  must  stay  at  this  port  till  we  have  hnished 
it ;  but  let  Alessandro,  our  brother,  read  his 
books,  and  leave  galleys  to  them  that  have 
studied  galleys  :  we  will  begin  all  at  once  ;  for 
see  you  not,  young  man,  that^  a  galley  can 
enter  at  Malamocco  for  all  our'chains  here  at 
Lido]  But  I  cannot  convince  this  reverend 
gentleman  of  the  same.  I  have  ordered  men 
to  follow  me,  Messer  Sebastian.  Dost  not  see 
the  tiling  so  !" 

"In  truth,  uncle  mine,  if  Messer  Alessandro 
can  leach  us  more  than  we  dream  of,  you  can 
teach  the  sailor's  arts  to  any  man  in  Venice." 

"We  talk  not,  Messer  Sebastiano,"  said 
Alessandro,  "  of  galleys,  for  who  could  teach 
our  most  excellent  lord,  Messer  Luigi !" 

"True,  sir,  true,  Sebastian  hath  taught  us 
wisdom  ;  but  says  Messer  Alessandro,  Sebas- 
tian, that  your  father  is  bent  upon  stopping 
here  :  believe  it  not,  man  ;  Marco  is  our  leader, 
sirs  ;  is  he  not  a  senator,  one  of  the  most  ex- 
cellent fathers,  in  truth  1  Let  us  go  in  and 
break  our  fast ;  we  will  break  our  fast,  and 
then  our  father  shall  go  with  us,  my  son,  to 
look  after  these  our  other  ports.  But  stay — 
ho  there  !"  he  cried,  as  he  ran  back,  with  an 
agility  rendered  marvellous  by  his  bulk,  and 
shouted  to  a  party  of  workmen  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  oil',  "  bestir,  boys,  bestir — or  when  I  am 
back — "  lie  shook  bis  fist  at  them  with  a  broad 
grm  Obeying  tlie  signal,  the  men  answered 
with  a  shout   of  laughing   obedience,  and   at 


once  moved  moie  quickly,  in  earnest  that  they 
would  fulfil  his  v/ish. 

"  Now,  my  friends,  for  a  little  bread, — Messer 
Alessandro, — and  a  little  wine,  Sebastian,  and 
then  to  the  south." 

Marco  received  his  brother  Luigi  with  digni- 
fied displeasure.  He  suspected  that  he  was 
sent  after  him  by  the  senate  to  be  his  lieuten- 
ant and  master  ;  a  suspicion  not  far  from  truth. 
The  foster  brother,  however,  gave  no  sign  of 
displeasure  ;  but  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
adopted  Luigi's  view,  so  far  as  proceeding 
with  the  works  at  the  next  port ;  strenuously, 
however,  resisting  further  progress  to  the 
south. 

"  We  will  do  so,  Messer  Alessandro,"  said 
Luigi  ;  "  we  will  leave  Malamocco  to-day  ;  and 
we  can  begin  all  along  in  a  month,  say." 

Alessandro  was  silent ;  so  was  his  lord  and 
foster  brother  ;  and  the  breakfast  suffered  little, 
except  from  the  repeated  assaults  of  the  fat 
noble,  who  stuck  his  knife  into  the  loaf  as  often 
and  as  deeply  as  if  it  were  an  enemy.  Before 
it  was  finished,  Alessandro  disappeared. 

Soon  after  he  had  gone,  Luigi  exclaimed, 
"  now,  sirs,  that  our  good  scholar  has  gone,  let 
us  to  our  trade.  1  go  to  the  port  of  Malamocco 
— you  will  go  with  mel" 

Sebastian  looked  at  his  father;  but  he  made 
no  reply.  Alessandro  did  not  re-appear;  and 
while  the  boat  was  prepared,  Marco  Morosini 
gave  no  sign  of  his  intention.  The  fat  man 
made  no  stay  in  his  proceedings.  The  boat 
was  announced  to  be  ready  ;  Luigi  entered  it 
with  a  look  at  his  brother ;  and  Marco  silently 
followed.  Their  voyage  would  have  been 
cheerless  but  for  the  constant  talk  of  Luigi, 
which  not  even  the  continued  fog  could  choke. 
At  length  the  air  began  slowly  to  grow  clearer, 
as  they  approached  the  strait  which  separates 
the  island  of  Malamocco  from  that  of  Peles- 
trina.  They  landed  on  the  southern  end  of 
Malamocco.  It  was  in  silent  solitude.  "These 
caitiffs,"  cried  Luigi,  "  have  not  yet  come, 
lazy  dogs  !" 

"  Who  are  they  1"  asked  his  brother. 

"  The  cunning  workmen,  Marco  mine,  whom 
I  had  ordered  here.  We  shall  wait  for  them, 
for  we  must  not  leave  this  till  the  first  pile 
is  in  the  ground.  Luckily  the  fog  is  blowing 
off." 

They  paced  the  ground  for  some  time  ;  Luigi 
pointing  out  the  way  in  which  he,  with  Moro- 
sini's assent,  would  dispose  the  barrier.  The 
assent  was  neither  given  nor  withheld  ;  but  for 
that  II  Grasso  seemed  to  care  little.  At  length 
Morosini's  long  strides  grew  slower  with  wea- 
riness, and  he  sat  down  upon  a  stone.  The 
other  two  continued  their  walk,  gradually 
stretching  more  seawards.  Suddenly  Luigi 
stopped,  and  pointed  with  his  finger, — "  Sec, 
see  there!"  Sebastian  looked,  but  saw  nothing. 
Luigi  kept  his  arm  stretched  out ;  his  jovial 
countenance  was  grave  even  to  fierceness; 
his  eye  gleamed  under  his  drawn  c'ovvn  brov, 
as  though  he  would  pierce  the  fog  I  y  an  effort 
of  the  will.  Sebastian  looked  again,  and  saw 
some  dark  body  moving  towards  the  lagoons. 
Luigi  seized  his  arm,  and  drew  him  behind  a 
slight  projection  of  the  ground  ;  still  watching 
in  br(  aihless  silence.  The  slow  and  measured 
sound  of  oars  came  muflled  through  the  fog, 


22 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


which  now  floated  by  in  quickly  waning  thick- 
ness. "  I  knew  not,"  said  Sebastian,  "  that  any 
of  our  galleys  were  near."  The  vessel  steadily 
pursued  her  way.  After  a  long  pause,  Luigi 
replied,  "  It  is  none  of  ours.  See,  Sebastian  !" 
A  break  in  the  fog  showed  a  column  of  smoke 
rising  in  thicker  clouds  from  the  opposite  shore. 
■'  Look,  look  again  !"  Another  dark  body  emer- 
ged from  the  seaward  fog,  with  the  click  of 
oars,  and  followed  its  consort  into  the  laguna. 
A  third — a  fourth  !  they  counted  six. 

"  Quick,  boy,  quick  !"  cried  Luigi,  "  take  my 
boat  back  to  Venice,  and  tell  them  that  we 
have  seen  six  Genoese  galleys  in  the  waters 
of  Venice,  and  that  there  are  traitors  there. 
We  are  bare  indeed  :  but  let  them  send  what 
force  they  may,  I  will  stay  here  ;  my  men  will 
be  with  me  presently.     Haste." 

Sebastian  flew  to  the  boat,  without  a  thought 
of  aught  else ;  and  in  two  minutes  the  men 
were  straining  forward  on  their  oars,  as  the 
bark  cl  aI  the  roaring  water  at  its  bow. 

On  their  way  he  gave  the  alarm  to  a  boat 
which  they  met  passing  towards  Lido,  and 
issued  order  for  other  boats  to  be  sent  to  II 
Grasso.  As  they  neared  Venice  he  grew  more 
circumspect ;  but  he  took  from  a  boat  which 
they  encountered,  fresh  rowers.  The  sun  was 
already  in  its  downward  course  ere  he  landed 
at  St.  Mark's  :  in  two  minutes  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  the  doge,  and  Contarini  had  heard 
his  startling  tale.  Next  minute  the  great  bell 
of  St.  Mark's  campanile  was  tolling;  the  peo- 
ple poured  into  the  square,  and  already  shouts 
of  "  the  Genoese  !  the  Genoese!"  rang  through 
the  city.  While  the  doge  repaired  to  the 
senate,  Sebastian  flew  at  his  bidding  to  the 
arsenal — roused  the  astonished  workmen  from 
their  labor,  toiling  with  his  own  hand ;  and 
with  a  quickness  passing  belief,  he  made  them 
prepare  two  of  the  readiest  galleys  for  service. 
In  one  of  them  he  returned  to  the  great  square, 
where  already  he  found  her  crew  under  their 
appointed  leader,  Alberti,  eager  to  depart. 
He  went  to  wait  outside  the  senate  chamber. 
Edward  was  there — ever  among  the  first  when 
Venice  was  in  need.  Presently  the  venerable 
prince  came  forth  ;  and  with  a  manly  cheerful- 
ness waved  his  hand  to  the  shout  that  greeted 
his  appearance.  His  stride  was  firm  andyoulh- 
ful,  as  he  walked  to  the  water's  edge,  where 
stood  the  two  galleys  ready  manned,  the  rowers 
at  their  posts — bowmen  crowding  the  deck 
between  and-the  forecastle.  "  Messer  Alberti !" 
he  cried  ;  Alberti  was  pointed  out  to  him  in  one 
of  the  galleys,  waving  his  cap.  "  Messer  I'ln- 
glese  !"  Edward  stepped  forward  with  a  glow- 
ing face,  but  a  brow  grave  and  firm.  Contarini 
pointed  to  the  second  galley :  "  Venice  owes 
your  patience  the  occasion  of  winning  new 
laurels."  Sebastian  drew  near  his  friend  ;  but 
the  doge  beckoned  to  him.  "  Young  man," 
he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  Sebastian's  shoul- 
der, "  we  rnay  need  you  here.  You  have  done 
your  share  of  service.  Often  have  our  galleys 
come  to  this  familiar  place,  but  never  I  think 
so  quickly  at  a  summons  as  to-day.  Stay  now 
for  me.  Tell  me,  as  to  the  second  part  of  your 
message — that  there  are  traitors  in  Venice ; 
what  ground  had  Luigi  Morosini  for  that  sus- 
picion !"  "  jXone,  Monsignore,  that  I  know,  but 
vhat  strange  srnoke.     Yet  we  have  heard  be- 


fore things  which  make  even  matters  so  light 
as  smoke  wear  a  look  of  foul  suspicion." 
"True;  —  but  you  know  no  more'!  Good. 
Attend  me  here,  or  at  the  palace  gate,  until  I 
send  a  message." 

Before  the  Doge  had  retired,  the  three  gal- 
leys were  out  of  sight ;  and  not  long  after,  two 
more,  for  which  he  had  given  order,  followed. 
Sebastian  loitered  about,  answering,  with  what 
discretion  he  thought  fit,  the  thousand  ques- 
tions that  beset  him  on  all  sides.  Messengers 
passed  to  and  fro ;  the  nobles,  first  in  nume- 
rous parties,  then  by  single  stragglers,  hastened 
to  the  Ducal  palace.  Both  the  senate  and  the 
Doge's  council  were  sitting  ;  and  orders  were 
sent  out  from  time  to  time,  to  put  the  city  in  a 
complete  state  of  defence.  The  sun  began  to 
sink :  Sebastian  felt  the  weariness  and  chill 
that  follow  on  violent  exertion  ;  but  no  mes- 
sage came  from  the  doge.  At  length  a  new 
shout  was  heard  at  the  water-side  ;  there  was 
a  bustle  in  the  crowd  ;  some  one  had  arrived 
from  the  sea-shore !  Mounting  on  a  step,  Se- 
bastian could  see  a  knot  of  men  approaching 
the  palace  through  the  crowd  ;  the  multitude 
opening  a  ready  way  for  them.  He  descended, 
to  meet  them  and  learn  their  tidings.  The 
last  rank  of  the  crowd  opened  ;  and  pale  witli 
vexation  and  anxiety,  his  dress  disordered  and 
damp  with  the  spray,  his  father  stepped  from 
among  the  crowd,  and  passed  hastily  into  the 
senate.  As  he  went  by,  he  looked  round, 
and  seeing  Sebastian,  a  scowl  of  hate  and  rage 
came  over  his  face.  The  senate  had  already 
broken  up,  ere  Sebastian  received  a  summons 
to  the  doge's  presence,  in  his  private  apart- 
ment. 

He  was  led  to  the  same  chamber  which  he 
had  entered  with  Edward,  to  disclose  the  less 
fiirmidable  danger  of  the  conspiracy  of  la  Gobba. 
Carrara's  dark  intent  had  been  frustrated ;  his 
miserable  tool  was  supposed  to  be  passing  her 
waning  days  in  the  Piombi,  the  prisons  under 
the  leads  of  the  palace,  terrible  from  their 
intolerable  heat ;  one  of  the  bravos,  whose  life 
had  been  spaced,  was  in  the  more  shocking 
Pozzi,  the  wet  well  like  dungeons  under  the 
palace.  So  suffered  the  enemies  of  Venice : 
would  not  this  greater  danger  pass  away! 
Such  were  the  thoughts  that  crossed  Sebas- 
tian's mind,  as  he  followed  the  attendant  up  a 
private  staircase,  and  along  the  corridor,  into 
the  httle  chamber.  Contarini  was  reclining  on 
a  couch,  wearied  though  not  conquered  by  the 
anxieties  and  fatigues  of  the  day ;  as  his 
cheerful  smile  betokened  when  Sebastian  en- 
tered. "Be  welcome,"  he  said,  "  worthy  ser- 
vant of  Venice.  Sit,  Sebastian  mine.  Well, 
boy,  your  father  told  you,  I  should  believe,  whai 
happened  after  you  came  away  with  such  good 
speed." 

"  No,  my  lord ;  he  told  me  nothing ;  bill 
passed  straight  into  the  senate." 

"  He  is  a  discreet  father !  but  he  hath  a  dis- 
creet son.  Know  then,  that  you  counted  but 
six  of  the  seventeen  galleys  lliat  passed  into 
the  waters  of  Venice  !  Ay,  Sebastian,  the  city 
is  threatened  by  a  fleet  of  the  Genoese.  But 
we  are  ready  for  them,  praised  be  St.  Mark. 
We  tell  not  this  thing  in  Venice,  le.st  it  need- 
lessly afi'right  the  people;  but  your  zeal  de- 
serves a  full  knowledge,  and  will  profit  by  it. 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


23 


Now,  my  son,  have  you  aught  else  to  tell 
meV 

"  Nothing,  iny  lord." 

"  Then,  Sebastian,  you  shall  go  rest  you,  and 
so  must  I :  for  age  does  for  me  what  toil  does 
for  you,  and  m.y  old  eyelids  sink  in  the  watch 
that  Venice  has  forced  upon  them.  But  others 
watch  for  us.  Be  here  betimes  in  the  morning  ; 
and  now,  good  night." 

Sebastian  took  the  doge's  proffered  hand,  and 
was  about  to  salute  it,  when  he  stopped,  and 
hesitating,  said,  "  If  I  were  not  reproached 
with  folly  and  presumption,  I  would  tell  you, 
excellent  prince,  a  thought  that  crossed  me  as 
I  stood  waiting  in  the  court  of  the  palace." 

"  Tell  it  me,  my  son  :  you  have  no  presump- 
tion  in  you  ;  and  I  dare  say,  no  folly,  where  the 
ladies  are  not.     Say  on." 

"  Thinking  of  this  danger  that  besets  us,  and 
looking  at  the  nobles,  as  they  passed  in  to  the 
senate  and  to  the  council,  I  could  not  but  re- 
member one  away  whom  most  we  want ;  see- 
ing none  that  could  fill  his  place." 

"Carlo  Zenol" 

"  Carlo  Zeno.  And  the  more,  seeing  tliat 
the  Ten  have  adjudged  that  Vittor  Pisani  should 
lie  in  prison,  because  the  weather  lost  him 
some  ships  in  Pola,  after  he  would  have  left  it, 
if  he  might." 

"  Hush  ;  we  must  not  say  these  things,  Se- 
bastian, even  though  we  are  young.  Holy 
Mary  !  my  son,  would  you  win  for  yourself  the 
honor  of  a  dwelling  above."  And  he  pointed 
upwards  with  his  finger,  towards  the  leads  of 
his  palace.  "  But  I  am  no  spy.  Young  man, 
you  have  made  me  remember  something  that 
haunted  my  thought,  yet  so  dimly,  that  it 
could  take  no  shape :  Zeno  it  is  whom  we 
want  " 

•'  Why,  then,  should  we  not  have  himi" 

"Nay,  he  is  at  Tenedos." 

"But  can  we  not  fetch  himi  Give  me  a 
galley — or  rather  give  it  to  Odoardo,  and  let 
me  go  with  him." 

"  The  Genoese  would  intercept  you." 

"  Not  the  Englishman,  for  he  is  a  more  cun- 
ning mariner  than  any  they  have,  and  almost 
than  any  in  Venice.  Vittor  Pisani  said  that  he 
would  yield  to  none  hut  Zeno  in  the  art,  and  he 
did  not  know  that  Odoardo  need  yield  to  him- 
self." 

"  We  will  think  of  it.  But  now,  Sebastian, 
hie  to  bed,  and  bring  to  Venice  a  readier  man 
in  the  morning  than  you  can  be  to-night." 

The  youth  took  his  leave,  and  wound  his 
way  by  the  private  entrance  to  the  court,  and 
thence  into  the  still  crowded  square  ;  but  in  the 
darkness  he  passed  unknown. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Released  for  a  time  from  all  care  of  Venice 
and  her  fortunes,  but  one  thought  took  posses- 
sion of  his  mind — Teresa,  unprotected,  unseen 
for  a  whole  night — for  two  days  and  a  night ! 
His  weariness  was  gone  ;  and  if  his  cheek  was 
paler,  an  unseen  smile  played  around  his  mouth, 
as  the  distance  lielween  them  grew  less.  Once 
more  the  old  house-door  sounded  to  the  well- 
known  knock  of  his  knuckles.     It  opened  with 


a  string  from  above,  and  he  entered.  In  his 
haste,  he  forgot  to  close  it,  but  hurried  foiward 
in  the  dark.  As  he  mounted  the  stone  stairs, 
a  strange  sound  struck  on  his  ear  behind  :  he 
listened.  All  was  still.  "Who  is  there  1"  he 
asked.  No  answer.  Then  he  remembered  the 
open  door,  and  laughed  at  himself  for  his  fool- 
ish fear  at  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  street. 
Nevertheless  he  turned  back,  for  all  his  impa- 
tience, recrossed  the  hall,  and  carefully  closed 
the  door.  That  done,  he  repaid  himself  for  the 
delay,  by  running  more  quickly  up  the  stairs, 
and  across  the  empty  rooms,  which  poor  Bian- 
ca's  narrowed  fortunes  had  left  desert.  A  dim 
light  shone  as  he  entered,  and  he  saw  Teresa 
standing  with  one  hand  on  the  door  of  the  bed- 
room, as  if  alarmed  at  his  delay,  and  awaiting 
the  issue.  At  the  sight  of  him  her  alarm  fled, 
and  she  moved  towards  him.  Suddenly  she 
stopped,  and  clasped  her  hands ;  and  her  face 
became  rigid  with  terror,  as  she  strained  her 
eyes  in  the  direction  from  which  he  came.  He 
made  a  quicker  step  to  soothe  her  fears ;  when, 
yet  more  terror-stricken,  she  pointed  at  the 
door  by  which  he  had  entered.  He  turned,  and 
as  he  turned,  he  saw  in  the  darkness  of  the 
room  he  had  just  left  a  figure  moving :  Sebas- 
tian's sword  glistened  in  his  hand  ;  he  remem- 
bered the  sound  on  the  staircase,  and  the  offi- 
cers of  justice  whom  he  had  driven  from  the 
house.  A  tall  form  emerged  from  the  obscurity 
into  the  dim  light  of  the  room,  and  came  stead- 
ily forward,  with  an  air  of  such  right  and  au- 
thority, that  Sebastian  hesitated. 

"  Who  is  this  V  he  asked,  turning  to  Teresa, 
but  still  keeping  before  her. 

"  0  heavens  !"  she  cried,  "  it  is  he — he  from 
whom  you  saved  me  !" 

A  torrent  of  fire  rushed  through  Sebastian's 
veins  as  again  he  turned  and  raised  his  sword 
against  the  intruder  ;  who  now  stood  full  in  the 
light  of  the  solitary  lamp,  also  with  his  sword 
drawn. 

It  was  his  father  ! 

Ten  years  had  fallen  on  his  father's  head 
since  he  had  seen  him — discomfort,  neglect, 
disappointed  lust,  and  rage,  had  withered  his 
brow  ;  his  hair  straggled  wildly  over  his  fore- 
head ;  his  glassed  eyes  were  seared  and  blood- 
shot ;  his  ashy  cheeks  were  furrowed  with  grim 
wrinkles  ;  his  dilated  nostrils  trembled  ;  and  as 
he  spoke,  his  voice  was  hollow,  hoarse,  and 
broken. 

"  Out  of  my  way,  idiot,"  he  cried  ;  "  hypo- 
crite, out  of  my  sight,  and  mock  no  more  ;  play- 
ing the  cavalier,  and  fighting  with  thy  father 
for  a  girl  in  the  streets." 

Sebastian  stood  unmoved.  "  Approach  not, 
sir ;  for  I  do  forget  that  I  have  a  father,  and 
see  none  but  the  oppressor  before  me." 

"Oh  ho!  this,  then,  is  what  the  child  has 
learned  from  my  coy  mistress  !  Begone,  fool ! 
or  I  must  teach  you  v/hat  a  sword  is,  that  you 
handle  it  so  boldly."  He  raised  the  hilt  of  his 
weapon,  and  pointed  it  at  Sebastian's  breast. 
For  an  instant  they  stood  eyeing  each  other. 
A  world  of  thoughts — or  rather  feelings  too 
vague  for  thought,  dashed  across  Sebastian's 
brain  ;  hut  most  he  thought  that  he  would 
rather  his  poor  sister  should  hear  that  her  father 
had  killed  him,  than  that  he  himself  had  dese- 
crated their  love  with  a  parricide  blow      He 


24 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


flung  his  swonl  far  away ;  but  still  stood  firm 
and  moveless  before  Teresa.  Morosini  slightly 
drew  his  hand  back.  Teresa  rushed  in  front 
of  her  protector,  and  threw  her  arms  round 
liim  ;  offering  herself  as  a  shield  against  the 
father's  sword.  Sebastian  made  an  effort  to 
unclasp  her  arms,  and  push  her  from  him  ;  but 
she  clung  with  all  her  soul ;  and  looking  round, 
she  gazed  upon  the  bad  man.  The  youth  folded 
his  arms  as  tightly  round  her.  For  a  brief 
space  Morosini's  eyes  glanced  fiercely  on  each 
of  the  marble  faces  before  him :  he  could  not 
endure  that  statue  look — his  eyelids  dropped  ; 
his  arm  fell ;  then  his  eyes  again  flashing,  he 
said,  in  a  choking  whisper — "Evil-begotten 
child,  I  have  then  detected  you  in  these  your 
shameless  haunts  !  Stay  ;  be  they  your  home  ; 
you  have  none  other.  No,  I  renounce  you  ;  ac- 
cursed be  the  day  I  first  saw  you.  I  say  to 
you,  Sebastian,  enter  not  my  house  again — you 
have  no  father."  And  thus  in  the  act  of  pater- 
nal malediction,  fixing  a  calmer  regard  on  the 
son,  he  recovered  more  of  his  accustomed  dig- 
nity :  and  strode  out  of  the  room. 

Sebastian  looked  down  upon  the  suffering 
creature  in  his  arms.  She  did  not  relax  her 
grasp  ;  bui  pressing  him  yet  more  tightly  to  her 
breast,  she  buried  her  face  in  his  bosom.  Op- 
pressed with  grief,  and  still  more  with  pity  for 
liis  companion,  he  remained  silent  for  a  time. 
At  length  the  stillness  alarmed  him.  The 
sweet  girdle  still  tightened  round  him  told  him 
that  she  had  not  swooned  ;  yet  there  was  the 
stillness  and  silence  of  death.  He  whispered 
in  her  ear — "  Teresa — dearest,  we  are  alone. 
Fear  no  more  ;  there  is  none  with  you  but  Se- 
bastian." Without  moving  from  her  posture, 
she  slightly  shook  her  head.  A  little  moan 
escaped  her  ;  her  brow  pressed  closer  to  his 
bosom  ;  again  she  moaned,  and  uttering  inar- 
ticulate words,  that  seemed  to  cleave  to  her 
palate,  she  writhed  in  his  arms.  "  Teresa,  dear 
Teresa !  you  terrify  me.  Let  me  see  your 
face,  sweet.  Teresa,  I  cannot  see  you  so, 
sweet  ;  you  are  ill ;  let  me  see  your  face." 
She  suffered  him  to  unclasp  her  arms,  and 
place  her  in  a  chair.  In  gentlest  accents  he 
repeated  assurances  that  her  terrible  persecu- 
tor was  gone.  She  leaned  her  elbow  upon  the 
arm  of  the  chair,  and,  resting  her  head  in  her 
hand,  seemed  t(j  strive  to  collect  her  memory. 
Her  hand  hung  more  gently  by  her  side.  Se- 
bastian took  it,  and  softly  kissed  it.  She  drew 
it  from  him.  A  pang  shot  to  his  heart  :  "  You 
do  not,"  he  said,  "  hate  me  for — what  you  now 
know." 

"Hate  you!"  she  answered,  in  a  whisper; 
"  Oh  no,  it  is  not  that  that  I  cannot  bear.  No," 
she  continued,  uncovering  her  face,  and  turning 
her  now  tearful  eyes  full  on  his  ;  "  it  is  that  the 
curse  on  my  house  should  fall  where  it  does, 
on  others ;  it  is  that  I  should  first  learn  your 
name,  Sebastian  .Morosini,  when  it  is  too  late 
to  prevent  the  ills  which  I  have  brought  upon 
you.  Misery  is  like  a  crime,  that  taints  all  who 
touch  it.  You  have  touched  one  that  has  the 
plague,  a  stranger ;  and  I,  loo,  I  have  let  you 
do  it." 

"  No  stranger,  dear  Teresa  ;  call  you  stran- 
gers those  who  have  seen  and  known  together 
what  we  have  known  1  Do  you  forget  what 
you  Lave  taugh:  me,  that  it  is  not  the  fame  and 


pomp  of  a  thing  that  make  it  dear  to  us,  but  the 
good  which  is  in  it." 

"  No,  I  do  not  forget ;  but  you  needed  not  to 
learn  the  lesson." 

"Indeed  I  did,  for  your  sake  ;  and  more  for 
my  own.  Think  you  that  life  to  me,  before  il, 
was  what  I  live  for  now!"  There  was  a 
pause.  He  broke  it  by  saying — *'  Teresa,  you 
have  not  told  me,  as  you  did  in  your  mother'.^ 
chamber  that  night  before,  to  leave  you  for- 
ever." 

"It  is  too  late." 

"  It  is  too  late.  Just  now,  when  I  stood  with 
your  arms  round  me,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  un- 
clasp them,  and  when  I  in  turn  took  you  in  my 
arms  to  brave  that  sword  together,  I  thought 
that  you  would  not  bid  me  leave  you  after- 
wards." 

She  suffered  her  head  to  fall  on  his  shoulder. 
Presently,  raising  it,  she  said,  "  Sebastian,  in  a 
rough  life  I  have  learned  a  strength  on  which 
I  have  relied  too  much.  You  suffer  lor  it.  I 
thought  I  could  have  seen  you,  and  let  these 
days  pass,  yet  again  to  be  alone  with  my  poor 
mother  and  llanieri,  should  he  ever  return  ;  but 
fate  would  not  have  it  so.  And  you,  dear  Se- 
bastian, who  might  have  laid  your  heart  in  some 
noble  shrine,  have  given  it  in  charge — to  whom, 
but  a  beggar  I  I  know  you  will  forgive  me  now  ; 
but  will  you  always^  Will  you  not  some  day 
spurn  me,  and  say  1  loved  myself  too  much  and 
you  too  little,  when  you  loved  most." 

"  Forgive  you,  Teresa  !" 

"  If  you  do  retract — if  you  do  desire  revenge, 
do  but  tell  me  so  ;  and  my  death  will  avenge 
you." 

Sebastian  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  the 
first  kiss  upon  her  trembling  lips  sealed  their 
betrothal. 

A  sound  from  the  bedchamber  roused  them 
from  their  dream.  Teresa  would  have  flown  to 
her  mother;  but  Sebastian  telling  her  that  ho 
should  go  down  the  stairs  and  fasten  the  door 
of  the  house,  she  would  not  suffer  him  to  go 
without  her ;  not,  she  said  to  protect  him,  but 
to  protect  her  own  thoughts.  They  went  hand' 
in  hand.  All  was  quiet,  and  the  door  was  made 
fast  for  the  night.  Teresa  entered  her  moth- 
er's room. 

Bianca  was  sitting  up  in  bed.  "  Teresa,'" 
she  said,  "what  is  amiss?  I  called,  but  you, 
who  always  hear  me,  heard  not.  You  are  agi- 
tated, my  daughter!  what  has  happened  !" 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,  mother.  Could  I 
smile  as  I  now  do,  if  there  were  !" 

"And  yet  your  eyes  are  red  with  weeping, 
child.  What  is  it! — ^your  father  is  return^ 
ed!" 

"Would  he  were,  for  your  sake,  mamma  mia. 
It  is  not  that — it  is  nothing."  But  the  girl  could 
not,  even  for  the  invalid's  sake,  master  herself; 
and  bursting  into  tears,  she  cried,  "0  mother, 
take  me  in  your  arms  ;"  and  into  those  dear 
arms  she  fell.  It  was  but  for  a  moment ; 
ashamed  of  thus  breaking  the  quiet  of  the  sick 
couch,  siie  withdrew  herself  from  her  mother's 
caresses  ;  and  answering  her  adjurations,  to 
tell  all,  by  saying  that  piesenily  she  would,  shi 
returned  to  the  saloon. 

"  Sebastian,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand,  "  i 
have  come  to  crave  a  strange  boon  :  it  is  to  taka 
me,  or  to  renounce  me,  once  for  all."    Sebastian 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


36 


Ko\i\d  have  folded  her  in  his  arms,  but  she 
drew  back.  "  Hear  me.  With  what  right  I 
know  not,  nor  with  what  wisdom,  I  have  suffer- 
ed you  to  link  your  fate  with  my  fortunes,  bad 
as  they  have  been,  except — except  in  many 
things.  Now  dear  Sebastian,  if  your  courage 
fails,  if  the  danger,  the  reproach  which  I  see 
for  you,  affrights  you,  say  it.  Think  not  that  I 
shall  reprove  you.  I  will  still  love  yon  for  what 
has  been,  for  things  done  cannot  die  ,  and  I  can 
bear  the  loss  of  a  happiness  I  almost  dread  ;  but 
I  dare  not  disclose  it  to  one  who  must  know  all, 
afterwards  to  strike  down  her  hopes  !" 

Sebastian  was  silent.  Teresa  looked  upon 
his  face  witli  that  fixed  regard  which  he  had 
encountered  twice  before,  as  though  she  could 
see  through  his  eyes. 

"You  do  not  answer  me." 

"  Do  you  need  an  answer  T' 

"For  this  I  do." 

"  Then,  Teresa,  I  am  yours  for  ever.  If  ever 
I  forsake  you,  mine  will  be  the  punishment. 
To  lose  you  would  be  despair  ;  but  to  lose  even 
the  love  for  you,  and  the  knowledge  of  all  that 
makes  life  itself  what  it  is,  were  madness — 
were  to  renounce  heaven  fur  hell  itself  You 
know  what  I  mean,  and  what  is  my  gage  to 
you." 

"  I  do  indeed.  Then  i)ear  with  me  while  I 
leave  you  for  a  little  while.  I  shall  return,  to 
summon  you  where  I  may  see  two  of  my  best 
friends  joined;  and  some  day,  Sebastian,  I  will 
tell  you  why  they  have  been  my  two  best 
friends." 

He  kissed  her  hand,  and  she  left  him  alone. 
In  quiet  delight  he  listened  to  the  murmur  of 
their  voices,  as  Teresa  toldher  wondering  moth- 
er their  story;  suppressing  however  the  most 
alarming  passages,  in  pity  to  the  invalid.  That 
done,  she  called  hiin  to  the  bedside,  and  making 
them,  both  kneel  ln^fore  her,  Bianca  joined  their 
hands  and  blesst  J  them  ;  bidding  Sebastian  be 
as  like  hts  ou  n  mother  in  heart  as  he  was  in 
face,  for  then  she  could  without  remorse  be- 
queath to  him  her  child.  They  then  left  her  to 
repose. 

It  was  broad  daylight  before  the  two  had  ex- 
changed the  thousand  explanations  to  which 
the  events  of  the  one  day  and  night  had  given 
rise,  and  then  Sebastian  took  leave  ;  promising 
to  keep  a  watch  upon  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

iT  was  not  without  anxious  thoughts  of  those 
he  left  behind,  that  Sebastian  repaired  to  the 
private  apartment  of  the  doge,  not  sorry  to 
avoid  the  possible  encounter  with  his  father  in 
the  public  part  of  the  building.  As  he  entered 
an  ante-room  the  venerable  Andrea  Contarini 
came  forth  on  his  way  to  the  senate,  as  upright 
and  as  fresh  in  face  as  though  years  and 
trouble  sat  not  on  his  brow.  With  a  smile  of 
approval  (ui  his  faithl'ul  attendant,  noting  with- 
in himself  Ills  haggard  looks,  which  he  attribu- 
ted to  weariness,  the  doge  desired  a  servant 
to  take  him  to  a  chamber  to  await  a  summons. 

Contarini  entered  the  vast  saloon  devoted  to 
the  sitting  of  the  grand  council,  where  the  sen- 
ate now  assem  )led.  It  was  not  then  quite  finish- 
D 


ed  ;  the  space  between  the  windows  that  lookea 
upon  the  piazza  was  as  yet  unadorned  by  the 
painted  record  of  his  own  exploits,  and  the  in- 
scription that  afterwards  stood  there — "  Me 
nulla  tenebae  aetas,  quum  Januenses  profligave- 
rim ;"  but  Tintoretto's  picture  of  the  heavens 
and  the  blessed  already  glowed  above  the 
throne  that  the  doge  ascended ;  and  the  wails 
and  ceiling  were  rich  with  gold  and  colors.  On 
the  benches  which  stretched  from  either  side  ol 
the  throne  were  seated  a  crowd  of  senators,  in 
various  garbs,  as  habitual  splendor  or  plainness, 
anxiety,  fatigue,  or  eagerness  animated  the 
nobles ;  the  senatorial  robes  were  in  many 
cases  forgotten ;  and  the  assembly  would  almost 
have  seemed  a  council  of  war,  but  that  the  sol- 
emn bearmg  of  its  chief,  the  presence  of  tlie 
grand  chancellor,  distinguished  by  his  red  stock- 
ings, and  of  the  procurators  of  St.  Mark,  re- 
stored its  august  and  deliberative  character. 
Other  senators  continued  to  enter  as  the  doge 
took  his  seat,  and  there  was  a  buzz  of  voices,  as 
many,  seated  in  little  knots,  or  speaking  as  they 
passed,  repeated  the  latest  tidings  of  the  last 
night.  One  alone  sat  silent  and  abstracted^ 
Marco  Morosini — who  had  taken  his  place  at 
the  extreme  end  of  one  of  the  benches  ;  with 
his  arms  folded,  his  body  stiffly  drawn  to  its  ut- 
most height,  his  shoulders  leaning  against  tlie 
back  of  the  seat,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  high  up 
on  the  opposite  wall.  His  hair  was  grayer,  his 
wrinkles  harsher,  and  his  skin  sallower  ;  but  a 
purple  flush  seem  to  spread  from  his  blood-shot 
eyes  a  little  way  upon  his  cheek ;  and  the 
tight  embrace  of  his  own  arms,  with  fists 
clenched  under  theiri,  showed  the  conflict  ol 
passions  which  was  raging  within  that  move- 
less form.  At  every  lull  in  the  murmur  of  con- 
verse, or  sometimes  rising  above  it,  was  heard 
the  echoing  murmur  of  the  increasing  multitude 
without,  in  the  piazza  ;  and  the  frequent  shuf- 
fle of  feet  in  the  adjoining  halls,  which  sounded 
loud  and  sharp  as  the  doors  occasionally  were 
swung  open  by  an  entering  senator,  indicated 
the  bustle  of  messages,  orders,  and  preparations 
among-  the  subordinate  officers  of  the  state  and 
the  retainers  of  the  nobles. 

All  sound  was  hushed  in  the  Council  Cham- 
ber as  the  doge  rose.  In  brief  and  plain  lan- 
guage he  described  all  that  had  been  done  over 
night  to  despatch  forces  for  the  repulse  of  the 
invaders,  and  to  put  the  city  in  a  thorough  stale 
of  defence.  "  But,  most  noble  senators,"  he 
said,  "  though  Venice  can  always  defend  Venice 
from  this  sudden  assault,  more  is  needed  to  de- 
feat her  enemies.  This  attack  is  but  the  first 
blow  :  you  are  already  possessed  of  the  reasons 
which  make  me  fear  that  our  arch  enemy  is  rais- 
ing a  league  against  us,  of  which  the  Genoese 
are  a  part.  Already  have  we  oflers  of  service. 
Milan  will  lend  us  her  strength  ;  our  faithful 
friend  William  Cooke,  hearing  of  our  danger,  is 
already  marciiing  to  our  aid,  and  sliah  wo 
repulse  him  V 

The  murnuH'ed  "  No"  rose  to  a  shout,  so 
many  were  the  answers. 

"  Others  may  be  summoned.  But  in  th:s 
service  of  uncertainly,  where  the  first  need  is 
quickness  of  action  guided  by  wisdom  and 
discretion,  the  thing  we  want  is  a  head  for  this 
our  gathering  strtngtii  Of  sage  and  valiant 
leaders  we  have  abundance — I  speak  now  to 


26 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


many  ;  but  the  difficulty  is  the  choice.  While 
i  am  in  Venice,  with  the  help  of  this  grave 
senate  and  of  my  most  excellent  councillors, 
1  doubt  not  we  can  devise  plans  fitting  and  just 
lor  all  occasions  ;  but  there  needs  some  trusty 
person  to  direct  on  the  scene  of  battle.  In 
iliis  great  peril  it  would  ill  become  us  to  betray 
\'enice  by  too  much  despising  our  foes  ;  they 
are  many  and  powerful ;  and  therefore  it  be- 
hoves us  to  choose  for  our  leader—  " 

•'  I  claim  the  service,"  cried  MorosinL,  with 
a  sudden  start  from  his  seat  that  turned  every 
face  upon  him  ;  some  indignant  at  his  inter- 
rupting the  doge,  others  wondering  at  the 
iuan"s  heat,  and  many  more  curious  to  hear 
him.  The  doge  remained  standing.  Loud 
calls  reminded  Morosini  of  his  discourtesy  ; 
and  he  sat  down.  But  Contarini,  saying  that 
all  such  zeal  for  Venice  should  have  a  voice, 
look  his  seat,  and  Morosini  rose  again.  "  I 
claim  the  service.  Forgive  me,  illustrious 
prince,  and  most  excellent  senators,  if  I  some- 
wiiat  too  suddenly  press  to  the  service  of  your 
republic  ;  but  I  owe  to  Venice  and  to  myself 
that  you  should  not  forget,  while  you  remember 
your  need,  the  servants  that  you  have.  How 
can  I  say  to  you,  most  excellent  fathers,"  con- 
tinued the  senator,  his  voice  growing  steadier 
as  he  spoke,  and  as  the  exercise  of  his  high 
office  warmed  and  soothed  his  heart  with  its 
accustomed  pride,  "  how  can  I  say  to  you,  that 
for  this  service  Marco  Morosini  is  the  fittest  ; 
since  I  know  too  well  how  great  it  is,  and  how 
unworthy  and  lowly  am  1 1  Most  excellent  fa- 
thers, there  is  none  in  Venice  that  thinks  more 
meanly  of  Marco  Morosini  than  himself  Yet 
his  name  hath  some  weight  with  you.  Was 
the  iiameof  Morosini  not  heard  when  the  great 
Arri;,'o  Dandolo  took  Constantinople  for  young 
Alexis  from  his  uncle  1  and  was  not  Tomaso 
Morosini  elected  patriarch  of  that  imperial 
city !  Was  it  not  Iluggiero  Morosini  who 
ravaged  Pera  many  years  after '?  and  though 
Messer  Carlo  Zeno  was  our  leader,  did  not  this 
I'uehle  arm  drive  before  it  the  Hungarian  hordes 
whom  Carrara  used  in  the  last  war?  But  I 
speak  unworthily  of  the  house  when  I  tell  of 
these  few  acts.  Nevertheless,  most  excellent 
lathers,  remember  that  to  have  a  good  name  is 
not  to  be  despised  ;  and  that  to  preserve  the 
dignity  and  glory  of  our  state  they  must  be  call- 
ed upon  to  whom  that  dignity  and  glory  in  part 
belong  ;  for  gloiy  is  the  monument  and  shrine  of 
deeds  valorously  done,  which  you  can  with  no 
wealth  purchase  ;  but  men  of  high  birth  and 
rare  virtue  are  penetrated  with  its  power,  so 
that,  without  guerdon  and  without  watch  u])on 
their  acts,  they  will  spare  neither  fatigue  nor 
dan;ier.  For  the  whicli  thing  it  behoves  you  to 
mak^j  the  greater  account  of  the  gage  which  you 
have  in  the  name  of  him  you  choose.  Say 
whether  Marco  Morosini  has  not  ever  stood 
with  mind  intent  and  ready,  and  vigilant  to 
watch  whatever  should  befall  Venice  1  Say 
whether  I  have  ever  been  backward  in  your 
cotiucils — whether  my  counsel  has  been  value- 
less 1  The  last — the  last  given  was  by  you 
taken — to  defend  tiie  ports  of  our  waters  ; 
given  in  lime,  but  taken  too  late  ;  for  had  it 
jeen  taken  when  given,  the  port  of  Brondolo 
wiiuld  have  been  closed  against  those  very 
sliips  that  now  violate  the  lagoons  of  the  repub- 


lic. Yet  tell  me,  when  has  Marco  Morosini  been 
repaid,  by  having  the  command  of  plans  which 
himself  has  suggested  V     He  sat  down. 

The  doge  rose  again,  and  said,  "  Most  ex- 
cellent senators,  it  is  in  such  zeal  as  this  that 
Venice  finds  her  strength  and  safety.  But  I 
can  believe  that  none  present  will  not  feel 
equal  ardor,  though  with  less  eloquence  to 
make  it  appear  to  us  than  Messer  Morosini ; 
and  now  in  time  of  trouble  hke  this,  it  behoves 
us,  who  hold  the  fate  of  Venice  in  our  hand, 
though  it  pleaseth  God  to  keep  us  dark  and 
unknowing  whether  we  judge  wisely  for  that 
fate  until  the  event — it  behoves  us,  I  say  to 
you,  to  take  those  acts  of  God  that  have  been 
shown,  to  see  whose  valor  and  skill  he  hath 
already  favored,  so  that  we  may  the  better 
judge  for  the  future  ;  and  therefore,  believing 
many,  and  Messer  Morosini  among  them,  equal 
to  this  service,  still  let  us  take  those  whom  we 
know  to  be  equal  to  it.  Let  me  have  your  advice, 
noble  senators,  and  say  whom  you  judge  fittest. 
If  it  be  Messer  Morosini,  let  me  have  your  will 
to  say  so  to  him." 

Morosini  again  started  from  his  seat,  but  he 
resumed  it  as  many  others  got  up.  Several 
called  out  thut  Marco  Morosini  should  have  the 
command  ;  others  named  Malipiero  ;  others 
Saracino  Dandolo.  A  voice  behind  the  crowd 
of  senators,  many  of  whom  were  standing, 
called  out  "  Vittor  disani."  "Hush,  hush!'" 
cried  a  host.  The  doge  held  up  his  hand,  and 
in  the  silence  said,  gravely  and  sadly,  "  Vittor 
Pisani  is  a  prisoner  by  the  decree  of  the  Ten, 
having  commanded  when  the  ships  were  lost 
at  Pola."  There  was  a  pause.  The  doge, 
still  standing,  continued.  "  There  is  one,  who, 
were  he  present,  would  at  once  be  named  by 
all.  He  is  abroad,  fighting  in  the  service  of 
Venice  ;  he  has  won  for  her  the  alhance  of 
the  Greek  Emperor,  newly  reinstated  on  his 
throne  ;  he  has  gained  for  her  her  newest  pos- 
session, the  island  of  Tenedos,  where  he  waits 
to  strengthen  her  power  ;  but  do  we  not  rather 
need  him  here  1  Is  not  Venice  herself  more 
precious  to  us  than  Tenedos  V  Loud  cries  of 
assent  answered  these  questions. 

"  But,"  cried  Morosini,  angrily  starting  up, 
"  the  Zeno  is  not  here — why  discard  those 
whom  we  have,  for  those  whom  we  have  not  1 
Why  are  our  senators  silent  1  Many  who  are 
wont  to  aid  us  with  their  counsel,  now  unclose 
not  their  lips.  Here  is  Navagero,  who  will  let 
Venice  be  lost  without  a  word."  Navagero 
flushed  a  crimson  red.     "  Here  is  Malipiero." 

In  an  instant  Malipiero  was  on  his  feet. 
Navagero  and  Steno,  who  sat  near  him,  as 
men  cling  together  that  have  a  common  burden 
on  their  minds,  dragged  him  down. 

"  What  says,  Malipiero,"  continued  Morosini, 
"  whose  tongue  of  fire  has  so  often  urged  the 
valor  of  our  senators  beyond  the  discretion 
of  cooler  hearts  V 

Malipiero  would  not  be  held  down.  Hastily 
whispering  to  his  companions,  "  Fear  me  not, 
fear  not  !"  he  turned  to  Morosini.  His  eyes 
flamed,  and  his  lips  quivered,  as  for  an  instant 
he  gazed  on  the  man  who  pressed  unconsciously 
on  bis  wound,  which  he  dared  not  avow  ;  then 
looking  towards  the  doge,  he  said,  "  Let 
Venice  put  a  sword  into  this  hand,  and  see 
then  whether  I  have  forgotten  how  to  use  it  for 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


27 


her."  A  niimnur  of  applause  soothed  his  hurt 
spirit  as  he  sank  hack  on  his  seat,  amid  the 
u'iiispercd  reassurances  and  cautions  of  his  less 
eager  companions. 

Seizing  the  short  pause,  Lionardo  Morosini 
rose  among  the  collected  senators  ;  a  man. not 
unlike  his  cousin  Marco,  hut  of  stouter  propor- 
tions, with  a  cloud  of  black  hair  over  his  brows, 
from  which  he  looked  forth  with  a  serpent's 
eyes.  He  urged  the  claim  of  his  relative  ;  and 
in  a  distant  part  of  the  hall  arose  successively 
Marino  Barbarigo  and  Pietro  di  Bernardo,  with 
the  same  purpose  ;  Marco  expected  not  their 
support.  His  cousin  and  he  were  old  enemies  ; 
and  the  other  two  were  partizans  of  Lionardo. 
But  the  ambitious  senator  sat  in  moody  ma- 
jesty, while  his  claims  were  advocated  by 
strangers. 

Again  the  doge  motioned  for  silence,  and 
continued,  as  though  he  had  from  the  first 
meant  but  one  speecn  which  had  been  broken 
by  the  interruptions.  "Though  we  have  not 
Messer  Carlo  Zeno  here,  noble  senators,  he 
might  be  with  us  speedily  :  you  have  but  to 
send  for  him."  The  senate  murmured  con- 
currence. "And  in  choosing  our  messenger, 
lot  us  have  one  whom  Venice  can  spare,  yet 
trust." 

"  Venice,"  cried  Morosino,  once  more  inter- 
rupting the  prince,  but  with  forced  calmness, 
•'  can,  it  seems,  spare  one  of  her  citizens  :  if 
Zeno  is  always  to  command,  and  Morosini 
never,  let  him  fetch  this  second  doge  !" 

"Venice,"  replied  Contarini,  speaking  through 
the  sounds  of  rising  displeasure  in  the  assembly, 
"  can  better  spare  those  who  are  not  in  her 
councils.  Already  has  a  messenger  been  sug- 
gested to  me,  whom  Venice  has  trusted." 

"And  who,  sir,  is  this  other,  for  whom  is 
despised" — an  angry  burst  of  voices  silenced 
the  intemperate  senator. 

"  The  message  of  the  senate  could  not  be 
more  safely  trusted  than  to  the  Englishman, 
Messer  Odoardo.  Messer  Odoardo  has  the  con- 
fidence of  Zeno  ;  he  has  learned  from  him  the 
mariner's  art ;  and  onediscreeter,  bolder,  or  more 
eager  and  rapid  in  hi.s  duty  we  could  not  have." 
Paler  with  rage,  Morosini  exclaimed,  "The 
illustrious  prince  says  that  he  was  advised  to 
name  this  messenger  ;  was  it  in  his  council, 
that  the  advice  was  given  1  Or  if  the  signory 
does  not  send  this  advice  to  the  senate,  are 
there  other  councils  in  Venice,  at  which  the 
doge  sits  unknown  to  the  senate,  that  advise 
placing  her  in  the  hands  of  strangers  ]  It  is 
said,  indeed,  that  there  are  traitors  among  us — 
here  in  this  hall :  are  they  near  the  throne  !" 

A  shout  of  fierce  displeasure  drowned  the 
voice  of  the  senator;  Malipiero  and  Pietro  di 
Bernardo  drew  their  swords:  some  rushed  to- 
wards Morosini,  and  others  called  for  the  offi- 
cers to  seize  him. 

The  uplifted  arm  of  Contarini  again  allayed 
the  tumult.  "  Senators,"  he  cried,  "  we  will 
pardon  to  Messer  Morosini  the  folly  of  his  too 
great  eagerness.  The  advice  h-e  scorns  came 
almost  from  himself  It  came,  artlessly  and  in 
honesty  of  heart,  from  one  who,  like  himself, 
burns  to  serve  the  republic ;  from  one  to  whom 
the  republic  already  owes  iiigh  services,  and  of 
whom  a  father  may  be  proud — from  liis  own 
»on   Sebastiano  Morosini. 


Morosini,  who  had  glared  upon  the  doge 
while  he  spake,  started  like  one  slung  at  the 
sound  of  the  name.  He  shook  his  fist  high  in 
air,  and  his  shirt  of  mail  jangled  beneath  the 
robes  upon  his  swelling  chest,  as  he  cried  with 
frantic  voice — "  There  are  traitors  then,  not 
here  alone — in  the  house  of  Morosini."  Placing 
his  strained  hands  convulsively  to  his  side,  he 
stared  wildly  around  for  an  instant  at  the  hun- 
dreds effaces,  that  watched  him  in  speechless 
amaze,  and  stalked  from  the  hall. 

Before  the  senate  had  recovered  from  their 
amaze,  a  loud  shouting  without  announced  that 
sometliing  had  happened  :  it  was  repeated  again 
and  again,  and  the  swelling  noise  showed  that 
more  people  were  running  into  the  piazza. 
Some  senators  went  out,  and  presently  return- 
ed, announcing  the  arrival  of  the  Englishman, 
with  tiding.«  Irom  Brandolo,  of  the  retreat  of 
the  Genoese.  The  whole  bearing  of  the  as- 
sembly changed ;  the  scene  just  past  was  for- 
gotten ;  faces  were  jocund  on  all  sides ;  and  it 
was  decided  by  acclamation  that  the  English- 
man should  be  admitted. 

He  entered  with  the  quick  step  and  fixed  look 
of  a  man  who  has  hurried  forward  with  his  ut- 
most speed,  eager  for  the  goal.  Courteously 
saluting  the  senate,  he  awaited  the  bidding  uf 
the  doge  ;  by  whose  permission  he  told  his 
tale.  The  galleys  found  Luigi  Morosini  watch- 
ing the  Genoese  from  a  distance  ;  the  number 
of  the  enemy's  ships  that  had  entered  the 
lagoons  was  in  all  seventeen,  and  he  was  too 
discreet  a  soldier  to  risk  his  men  in  a  bootless 
contest.  The  arrival  of  the  two  galleys  en- 
abled him  to  do  no  more  ;  and  he  could  only 
console  himself  with  the  determination  of  re- 
sisting to  the  last  any  attempt  to  approach 
Venice.  The  Genoese  landed  a  parly  at  the 
eastern  suburb  of  Chiozza,  and  repulsing  the 
scanty  garrison  who  were  led  out  against  them 
by  Pietro  Emo,  the  Podesta,  they  succeeded  in 
setting  fire  to  some  houses  ;  and  re-embarking, 
the  whole  set  sail  for  sea  through  the  port  ot 
Chiozza.  While  Luigi  Morosini  remained  to 
watch  the  approaches  of  Venice,  he  sent  back 
Edward  in  a  ganzaruolo,  or  lighter  bark,  with 
the  good  tidings.  Having  finished,  the  Eng- 
lishman was  desired  to  retire,  and  the  senate 
remained  in  calmer  deliberation  to  devise  fur- 
ther measures. 

It  was  not  very  long  after,  that  the  departure 
of  the  senators,  first  by  ones  and  twos,  and 
then  in  numerous  knots,  told  that  the  sitting 
had  closed.  Presently  an  attendant  came  to 
summon  Edward  to  the  private  apartment  ot 
the  doge.  He  fi)iind  the  prince  in  converse 
with  Sebastian,  and  their  discourse  was  of  him. 
The  doge  told  him,  that  the  senate  had  deter- 
mined, under  certain  contingencies,  to  send  for 
Carlo  Zeno,  and  that  he  was  to  be  the  mes 
senger ;  the  question  being  who  should  go  with 
him,  as  a  kind  of  Provveditore.  In  the  mean- 
time, thirteen  other  galleys  were  to  be  prepared 
with  all  possible  speed,  and  phiced  for  the  pre- 
sent under  command  ol Taddi'o.lusUiiiani.  I'he 
friends  were  then  released  from  their  attendance 
on  the  doge ;  who  gave  Sebastian  a  parting 
injunction  to  hold  himself  in  readiness  at  tha 
first  call. 


98 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

During  the  long  time  that  he  was  detained 
in  tlie  doge's  apartment,  Sebastian  had  been 
torn  by  anxiety  and  impatience  in  thinking  of 
those  whom  he  had  left  undefended.  This  en- 
counter with  his  father  tiirew  an  unpleasant 
light  on  tiie  previous  encounter  with  Alessan- 
dro's  servant ;  and  while  he  was  confined,  and 
even  his  father  detained  in  the  senate,  he  felt 
that  their  most  dangerous  enemy  was  at  large. 
He  had  however  full  time  to  ponder  the  means 
of  providing  some  protection.  The  first  thought 
was  to  engage  in  his  own  service  one  of  his 
father's  attendants,  who  was  especially  attach- 
ed to  himself;  but  that  was  at  once  rejected. 
His  next  was  to  admit  his  friend  Edward  to 
his  counsels ;  and,  though  many  times  relin- 
quished in  the  shame  of  exposing  his  father, 
and  still  more  in  some  fear  lest  his  love  for 
Teresa,  or  her's  for  him,  should  suffer  the  mis- 
construction which  seemed  so  unavoidable,  that 
thought  he  fulfilled.  Therefore,  when  they  ar- 
rived at  Edward's  lodging,  with  some  difficulty 
Sebastian  disclosed  to  his  friend  the  whole  his- 
tory of  those  events  which  had  so  unexpectedly 
crowded  upon  each  other.  As  he  spoke,  he 
felt  more  than  ever  how  hard  it  was  to  tell  a 
stranger  Teresa's  bearing  in  the  matter,  and  to 
describe  that  force  of  truth  which  he  saw  in 
all  she  said  and  looked.  When  he  had  done, 
Edward  lield  his  peace,  with  his  eyes  cast  down  ; 
and  it  was  witli  a  beating  heart  that  his  young 
companion  watched  his  face.  Edward  knew 
at  once  what  must  be  Sebastian's  trouble  ;  and 
lie  saw  how  readily  suspicions  would  arise  to 
liis  mind  which  had  no  ground  in  truth,  and 
how  the  mere  hint  of  them  would  hurt  his 
friend.  Discarding  them  therefore,  he  thought 
cmly  how  he  could  serve  him  as  he  wislied. 
Presently  laying  liis  li-and  on  his  shoulder,  he 
said,  '•  Se!)astian,  you  should  sooner  have  told 
me  of  this,  for  some  of  the  ill  might  have  been 
prevented,  had  we  taken  counsel  together.  But 
now,  the  first  thing  is  to  set  a  guard  on  the 
helpless  ladies."  He  called  an  attendant,  and 
desired  him  to  bring  to  them  the  English  sol- 
dier who  had  just  come.  He  turned  to  Sebas- 
tian, and  continued  :  "This  man  is  a  messen- 
ger to  rnc  from  William  Cooke,  who  is  already  on 
liis  march  to  our  aid,  and  has  sent  him  forward 
to  announce  his  approach.  The  man  is  an 
honest  and  faithful  fellow,  with  much  courage, 
little  Italian,  and  little  care  what  becomes  of 
him,  so  that  he  be  fed." 

The  door  opened,  and  the  soldier  entered. 
His  bare  head  was  round  and  small :  and  the 
once  yellow  hair,  shorn  close,  seemed  bleached 
by  the  heat  of  the  alien  clime.  A  patch  of  skin 
60  fair  that  it  looked  like  a  white  light,  showed 
where  his  steel  cap  had  sheltered  it  from  the 
siin  ;  but  below,  the  hue  was  burned  to  an 
Italian  tint,  which  contrasted  strangely  with 
the  sandy  eyebrows  and  bushy  beard.  On  his 
upper  lip  the  hair  was  close,  short,  tender,  and 
silky,  as  it  often  is  in  very  fair  men  ;  but  round 
his  cheeks  and  chin  was  a  bush  so  thick  and 
full,  that  his  broad  nose  and  mouth,  thick  firm 
cheeks,  and  sullen  eye,  made  hirn  seern  like  a 
bull  looking  through  a  bunch  of  hay.  The  mail 
which  covered  his  ample  chest  swelled  it  to  a 
giant's  breadth  ;  and  his  shoulders,  spreading 


abroad  in  emulation,  gave  tc  his  brawny  hips, 
clothed  though  they  were  in  the  rusty  red  vest 
of  coarse  cloth,  and  to  the  massive  mahogany 
legs  that  showed  beneath,  and  stood  in  loose 
leather  boots,  an  air  of  lightness  marvellous  for 
their  size  and  strength.  The  weight  above 
seemed  almost  necessary  to  stay  the  activity 
below.  Answering  Edward's  beck,  he  came 
near,  and  after  a  hasty  salute  stifled  by  mingled 
baslitiilness  and  a  careless  indifference,  he 
stood  with  one  broad  hand  on  his  hip,  and  the 
other  hanging  in  moveless  weight  by  his  side. 
Sebastian  surveyed  him  curiously,  and  thought 
that  he  would  alone  be  almost  enough  to  guard 
a  castle  ;  but  he  mistrusted  the  dull  look  of  the 
man's  face. ,  He  was  reassured,  when,  at  the 
first  word  from  Edward,  a  smile  beamed  over 
his  face  and  lighted  up  his  wrinkling  cheeks, 
like  a  burs'  of  sunshine  from  a  thunder-cloud. 

"  Well,  Master  John,"  said  Edward,  "  is  ser- 
vice as  gay  as  ever^  Dost  look  for  sport  in 
thy  new  sojourn"!" 

John  Turnbull,  as  he  claimed  to  be  called — 
John  of  Maidstone,  as  his  comrades  called  the 
sturdy  man  of  Kent — or  John  Maid,  for  short- 
ness and  fun — grinned  a  yes,  which  said  more 
than  words. 

"  Wilt  do  me  a  service,  John  V 

"  Aye,  Master  Edward,  I  should  like  to  sec 
the  service  I  would  not  do  thee,  by  leave  of  our 
captain." 

"  Nay,  I  will  promise  thee  the  captain's  leave 
and  a  good  guerdon  to  boot,  and  easy  service 
too,  John.     Didst  ever  take  care  of  ladies!" 

John  grinned  again  ;  but  what  his  grin  meant 
he  did  not  expound. 

'•This  man,"  said  Edward,  turning  to  Se- 
bastian, and  speaking  again  in  Italian,  "  will  do 
better  for  your  purpose,  than  some  more  cun- 
ning knaves  that  you  might  meet  in  Venice. 
He  will  guard  the  house  like  a  dog ;  and  yet, 
for  all  his  rough  bluntness,  he  is  no  fool." 

"  Can  Cooke  spare  such  a  man  !" 

"  Indeed,  he  is  worth  any  five  men  in  his 
band  ;  but  he  must  stay  here  till  Cooke  arrives  ; 
and  we  have  not  fighting  to  do  yet.  Possibly 
before  we  need  him,  Jacopo  himself  may  re- 
turn." 

John  Turnbull  was  sent  to  find  the  loosest 
clothes  among  those  of  Edward's  servants,  that 
his  dress  might  attract  the  less  notice  :  and 
then,  a  very  brief  lesson  from  his  countryman 
sufficed  to  explain  that  he  was  to  follow  Sebas- 
tian, and  to  keep  guard  where  he  should  be 
posted  daily,  until  relieved  by  Sebastian.  John 
bluntly  signified  his  assent,  and  did  not  even 
look  a  wish  to  know  more  than  was  told  him. 

Sebastian  led  him  forth  ;  and  for  the  nonce 
he  stationed  him  to  watch  the  house  of  Jacopo 
Arduino  from  the  street ;  making  him  under- 
stand, in  the  English  which  he  had  learned 
from  Edward,  that  if  he  saw  others  enter  the 
house,  he  should  enter  too  ;  and  act  as  he 
found  ihem  enemies  or  friends. 

Another  duty  then  lay  on  Sebastian's  heart, 
and  as  he  walked  through  the  least  frequented 
streets  to  enter  his  father's  house  for  the  last 
time,  by  a  side  door,  many  were  the  bitter 
thoughts  of  his  dear  Angiolina  that  crowded 
on  his  mind.  He  almost  reproached  himself 
that  aught  should  have  happened  to  drive  him 
from  the  charge  which  he  felt  to  have  been  be- 


THp  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


29 


queathed  to  him  by  her  .nother ;  and  he  ap- 
proached the  palace,  more  and  more  lost  in  the 
bewildered  doubt,  whether  he  should  disclose 
all  to  her  or  not — leave  her  to  be  possessed 
perhaps  against  him,  or  make  her  at  once  know 
the  vice  of  her  father.  He  entered  the  house  un- 
decided ;  his  thoughts  for  the  time  diverted 
by  the  desire  to  escape  seeing  his  father.  He 
met  none  but  a  few  servants  passing  through 
the  halls  on  their  accustomed  duties  ;  and  luck- 
ily he  found  his  sister  alone,  in  a  chamber  more 
especially  consecrated  to  her  use. 

In  the  three  days  that  had  passed  since  he 
had  seen  her,  what  events  had  happened  !  He 
had  endured  the  most  violent  fatigue:  two 
sleepless  nights,  one  most  wearisome,  the 
other  hurried  along  by  the  strongest  passions  ; 
he  had  become  a  renounced  son  ;  he  was  affi- 
anced to  a  bride  whose  safety,  and  even  life, 
lie  felt  to  be  in  jeopardy;  he  had  come  to  bid 
farewell  to  the  sister  with  whom  he  had  grown 
up  from  the  cradle.  Angiolina  looked  round. 
His  face  was  as  altered  as  if  years  had  gone 
by  since  their  last  hasty  separation  ;  and  his 
haggard  and  troubled  look,  as  he  hurried  for- 
ward to  embrace  her,  struck  her  with  affright. 
She  had  however  heard  of  his  exertions,  and 
there  was  a  feeling  of  pride  as  well  as  pity  when 
she  folded  him  in  her  arms,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Dear  Sebastian,  how  weary  you  are  !  But 
now  you  shall  repose  awhile :  rest  on  this 
couci),  and  we  will  talk  when  you  have  slept 
away  this  paleness  and  that  little  frown."  Se- 
bastian pressed  her  to  him  in  silence ;  and 
kissing  her  cheek,  suffered  her  to  lead  him  to 
the  couch.  But  instead  of  reclining  he  took  her 
hand,  and  made  her  sit  by  him.  His  solemn 
look  alarmed  her  anew,  and  she  thought  of 
some  unknown  dan;;er.  "What  ails  you,  bro- 
ther mine]  have  not  the  Genoese  yet  left  us." 

"  The  Genoese,  Angiolina,"  he  replied,  put- 
ting on  a  less  troubled  air,  "  need  give  you  no 
more  fear — there  is  indeed  no  fear  of  any  kind. 
But,  sister  mine,|fiy  time  is  short ;  yet  while 
I  see  you  look  so  glad  and  kind,  I  hardly  dare 
begin  to  tell  you  what  takes  me  from  you  again." 

"  Sebastian,  something  has  happened  to  you  !" 
she  cried,  looking  anxiously  in  his  face.  "  What 
is  it:  tell  me,  my  brother;  for  whatever  ill  be- 
falls you,  falls  also  on  your  sister." 

With  many  efforts  to  break  the  shock,  and 
many  words  of  reassurance  and  consolation, 
Sebastian  told  her  so  much  of  the  story  as  con- 
cerned himself;  but  he  dared  not  scare  the 
fond  face  that  looked  at  him  through  its  tears 
with  the  knowledge  of  their  father's  wrong. 
Besides,  in  that  father's  care  he  must  leave 
her;  and  it  was  on  every  account  safer  that 
she  .  hould  know  notliing  more.  He  told  her, 
indeed,  that  his  father  had  discovered  him, 
and  r-inounced  him  ;  and  when  he  came  to  that, 
and  added,  that  he  must  now  leave  her,  never 
perha  JS  to  return  to  the  same  roof,  the  agitated 
girl  flung  herself  into  his  arms,  and  nestling 
close  to  his  busorn,  vowed  that  he  never  should 
leave  her.  What  should  she  do  without  him! 
What  friend  had  she  in  the  world  !  Sebastian 
could  not  answer;  but  endeavored  to  pacify 
her  with  hopes,  that  the  trouble  would  pass  by, 
and  the  day  would  come  which  should  reunite 
them. 

A  deep  voice  spoke  his  name  close  to  them  ; 


and  looking  round,  Sebastian  saw  the   foster 
brother  at  his  side. 

"Messer  Sebastiano,  I  have  a  message  from 
your  father,  which  I  believe  I  may  tell  you 
herel" 

Sebastian  listened  in  silence. 

"  The  Morosini  has  commanded  me  to  say  to 
you,  that  grave  as  your  fault  has  been — he  said 
so,  though  he  did  not  vouchsafe  to  tell  me  what 
it  was — the  son  of  his  house  must  not  want  the 
means  of  keeping  up  his  proper  estate,  and 
therefore  you  will  have  set  apart  for  your 
separate  use  and  maintenance  one-third  of  all 
the  money  which  our  lord  reserves,  in  these 
times  of  doubt  and  trouble,  from  the  service  o) 
Venice." 

Sebastian  paused  for  a  moment.  And  then, 
while  Angiolina  looked  up  in  wonder  and  dis- 
may, at  his  bitterness  and  audacity,  he  replied, 
"  Messer  Alessandro,  tell  Messer  Morosini  that 
when  he  suffers  me  to  live  in  his  house,  I  do 
not  refuse  the  gifts  of  a  fattier  ;  but  he  has 
made  me  a  stranger,  and  a  Morosini  accepts 
no  alms." 

Alessandro  was  not  surprised;  first,  because 
he  knew  more  of  Sebastian's  provocation  than 
he  pretended,  to  either  son  or  father  ;  next, 
because  he  knew  the  fire  and  courage  of  the 
young  man's  nature,  though  it  had  hitherto  had 
no  scope  for  display.  Alessandro  admired  huii 
with  all  the  warmth  of  a  congenial  temperament 
in  so  far  as  an  indomitable  audacity  was  com- 
mon to  both  ;  and  he  would  have  strived  to  use 
the  growing  senator  for  his  own  ends,  but  that 
Sebastian's  nature  was  of  a  kind  which  made  it 
incompatible  with  the  use  of  Morosini  himself— 
already  in  the  senate,  and  a  readier  if  less 
powerful  tool.  Thus  it  often  is  with  men  of 
more  talent  than  instinctive  feeling  :  had  the 
ambitious  bastard  determined  to  make  a  tool  of 
his  nephew,  probably  it  would  have  been  his 
policy  to  be  partly  as  virtuous  as  he  seemed,  if 
only  to  support  the  scrutiny  of  his  ally  ;  but 
Marco  Morosini  he  despised  so  much,  that  his 
mind  felt  alone  in  his  company,  and  he  scrupled 
not  to  unbare  it  of  its  dress  before  him,  knowing 
that  the  eye  upon  it  was  as  unknowing  as  that 
of  some  household  brute.  Virtuous  or  vicious 
according  to  his  means,  the  selfish  profligate 
dullard  whom  he  had  chosen  for  a  tool  made 
him  more  infamous  ;  and  he  almost  disliked 
Sebastian  for  reminding  hirn  of  what  he  had 
abandoned.  It  was  when — even  while  rising 
against  him  as  an  enemy — Sebastian  exhibited 
that  bcddness  of  purpose,  that  energy,  and  that 
keenness  of  intelligence  which  he  himself  still 
possessed,  and  which  seemed  still  to  link  him 
with  the  noble  nature  of  his  kinsman  in  blood, 
that  he  felt  towards  him  something  almost  like 
affection.  That  feeling  as  well  as  an  asluter 
wish  to  retain  some  show  of  alliance  with  the 
departing  son,  made  him  now  offer  to  be  a  me- 
diator. "Sebastian,"  he  said,  "I  know  not  at 
what  thing  your  father  is  angered  ;  perhaps  it 
is  some  fault  of  youth  ;  perhaps  sonic  rigor  of  his 
age,  or  some  mistake  of  his  parental  care  ;  a  lit 
tie  submission  might  soften  him  ;  and  you  need 
not  humble  your  high  spirit  bel'ore  him,  but 
suffer  me  to  jiut  some  such  words  into  your 
mouth,  in  the  answer  you  give  me — without 
making  me  more  a  party  to  your  secrets  than 
you  may  pleased." 


30 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


Angiolina  eagerly  seconded  the  foster  broth- 
er's counsel ;  entreaiing  her  brother  to  remain 
or  to  return  to  his  liome.  Sebastian  looked  at 
his  sister,  at  first,  doubting,  but  then  resolved. 
lie  turned  to  Alessandro,  and  looked  up  in  his 
face.  Alessandro  answered  him  gaze  for  gaze  : 
lie  was  sincere,  in  part  at  least,  and  knowing 
that  for  once  he  could  meet  his  kinsman's  eye, 
he  seized  the  opportunity.  Still  Sebastian  was 
not  unmindful  of  his  meeting  Alessandro's  ser- 
vant in  Bianca's  bed-chamber  ;  and  though  he 
read  no  confession  of  it  in  the  foster  brother's 
face,  he  could  not  relinquish  his  suspicions  for 
a  look.  He  said,  "  If  Messer  Morosini  has  not 
told  you  the  quarrel  there  is  between  us,  none 
other  can.  But  I  have  no  other  answer.  I 
shall  not  many  minutes  trouble  him  with  my 
presence  here." 

"  He  heard  from  the  servants  that  you  were 
come  ;  but  he  said  nothing  to  hasten  your  de- 
parture. I  shall  convey  your  message,  wishing 
it  were  less  difficult  to  deliver."  So  saying, 
Alessandro  left  the  room. 

Angiolina  urged  her  brother  to  recall  him; 
and  asked  eagerly,  whither  he  would  go  to  take 
up  his  abode  1  Whitlier,  he  asked  in  reply,  but 
to  their  excellent  uncle  Luigi  ;  who  had  himself 
already  been  driven  by  Marco's  overbearing 
behavior  to  the  other  palace  of  their  family, 
where  Michele  their  cousin  dwelled.  "  Then, 
dear  Sebastian,  I  shall  at  least  know  that  you 
are  in  good  keeping,  and  may  see  you  at  times  ; 
but  how  shall  I  pass  the  days  which  do  not  begin 
with  seeing  youl  how  sleep  after  the  days  in 
which  I  see  you  not  ?"  It  was  long  before  Se- 
bastian could  break  away  from  his  sister  and 
leave  her  to  her  bitter  solitude  ;  while  he  for 
the  last  time  crossed  the  halls  of  his  fathers 
HnA  suffered  the  great  door  of  the  palace  to  be 
closed  against  him — now  welcome  in  every 
house  but  that. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

D.4.YS  passed  by,  and  Edward  received  not  the 
final  command  to  set  out  on  his  voyage.  The 
Councils  of  Venice  seemed  paralyzed.  The 
general  terror  died  away  with  the  removal  of 
its  immediate  cause  ;  but  yet  the  aspect  of  af- 
fairs daily  grew  worse.  No  efforts  of  the  sig- 
nory  could  check  appalling  rumors  of  the  pre- 
parations of  the  Genoese  immediately  without 
their  waters.  Istria  was  invaded  by  the  enemy, 
and  Rovigno  and  other  towns  recorded,  by 
their  surrender,  the  disgrace  of  Venice.  The 
Genoese  were  reported  to  have  some  fifty  gal- 
leys in  the  gulf  of  which  the  emperor  had 
named  Venice  the  queen.  One  day's  degrada- 
tion was  more  than  rumor.  A  ship  belonging 
to  Aluise  dalle  Fornasi,  laden  with  cotton,  ap- 
proached the  port  of  Malamocco  from  Syria ; 
and  a  crowd  of  people,  swelled  by  those  enga- 
ged in  completing  the  works  of  the  barrier  and 
fortification,  and  others  who  had  come  to  the 
shore  to  see  their  progress,  stood  to  witness 
the  entry  of  one  among  the  many  ships  that 
used  to  bring  riches  to  the  city  ;  now,  in  times 
of  war  and  trouble,  a  rare  sight.  But  the  ship 
was  not  alone:  behind  it  were  three  others: 
tbev  vvere  Genoese  war-galleys.    The  bold  and 


fiery  Aluise  stood  to  see  his  ship  chased.  Twtr 
galleys  that  had  been  so  hastily  prepared  wer« 
now  all  but  unmanned,  and  were  at  a  distant 
part  of  the  lagune.  Shouts  arose  to  summon 
them ;  men  ran  hither  and  thither  u  ith  loud 
cries  ;  everybody  urged  others  to  do  something, 
as  if  helplessness  were  a  mere  w-eakness  of  his 
own.  Amid  the  noise  and  tumult  the  vessels 
neared  the  shore.  Those  in  the  cotton-ship 
were  evidently  on  the  alert :  it  suddenly  turned, 
and  awaited  the  approach  of  its  pursuers ; — 
Giacomo  Vendramini  was  preparing  to  fight. 
A  loud  shout  arose  on  the  shore,  but  the  wind 
beat  it  back,  and  in  the  crash  against  the  first 
of  the  Genoese  galleys  Vendramini  and  his 
men  heard  it  not.  The  watery  joust  was  not 
in  favor  of  the  Venetian  ;  the  beak  of  his  gal- 
ley missed  his  foeman,  while  the  Genoese  came 
against  his  side  with  such  force  that  the  tim- 
bers crackled  and  started,  and  in  an  instant  a 
stream  of  fighting  men  ran  along  the  flat  though 
narrow  bridge  of  the  beak.  Six  of  them  fell 
dead  as  they  leaped  on  to  the  deck,  but  some  be- 
hind succeeded  in  engaging  the  foremost  of  the 
Venetians  hand  to  hand ;  a  little  space  was 
made  behind  the  boarders — more  rushed  in  ; 
and  though  one  fell  now  and  then  under  the 
shower  of  arrows  which  swept  the  prow  of  the 
galley,  the  number  of  the  Genoese  on  board 
soon  equalled  that  of  the  Venetians.  Vendra- 
mini burned  to  signalize  his  young  prowess,  no 
less  than  to  save  the  treasure  of  his  friend  and 
patron  Aluise  ;  and  the  Genoese  felt  all  the 
force  of  his  desires.  But  suddenly  a  shout  arose 
behind  him — the  second  galley  had  approached 
unobserved  on  his  other  bulwark,  and  already 
were  a  crowd  of  fresh  swordsmen  making  havoc 
in  his  rear.  Inch  by  inch  he  fought,  as  he  was 
driven  to  the  stern  :  some  of  his  men  were 
urged  into  the  water  by  the  press  which  he  in 
front  could  not  resist ;  until  sinking  with  a 
mortal  wound,  he  could  no  more  haed  the  re- 
sisters,  and  the  crew  yielded.  A  short  time 
sufficed  to  carry  their  treastHfe,  the  profits  ol 
their  voyage,  into  the  Genoese  galleys, with  part 
of  their  cargo  :  a  smoke  rising  from  the  hold 
spoke  the  fate  to  which  the  rest  was  doomed, 
as  the  Genoese,  with  shouts  of  scorn  and  tri- 
umph rowed  off  from  the  burning  ship.  With 
desperate  energy  the  disabled  crew  manned  a 
few  of  their  oars  and  pulled  for  the  land.  Black 
smoke  and  lurid  flames  rose  from  the  wreck,  as 
the  bleeding  mariners  bore  their  dead  captain 
on  shore  among  the  angered  and  shame  strick- 
en multitude  who  had  witnessed  the  fight  in 
helpless  impatience.  Many  and  deep  were 
the  murmurs  heard,  that  Vittor  Pisani  was  in 
prison,  because  he  had  been  conquered  by  the 
weather,  while  the  citizens  were  left  to  be  con- 
quered by  the  more  terrible  Genoese.  The  re- 
port, that  Pietro  Doria  had  dragged  in  the 
water  at  his  galley's  stern,  the  flag  of  St. 
Mark,  taken  from  Pisani,  less  shamed  them 
than  that  rout  before  their  eyes. 

The  event  gave  an  impulse  to  the  activity  of 
the  signory,  and  with  great  exertions  fifteen 
galleys  were  prepared.  But  only  six  could  be 
manned  :  for  many  of  their  seamen  were  away 
with  Carlo  Zeno  ;  many  were  discontented  at 
the  imprisonment  of  their  favorite  leader  ;  and 
for  the  six  that  they  did  man,  the  officers  of  the 
republic  had  to  hunt  out  and  force  t^ie  reluctant 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


31 


r.aniiers.  Thus  however  were  the  violated 
waters  of  Venice  placed  under  some  guard,  and 
Taddeo  Justiniani  was  enabled  to  protect  at 
least  the  city  itself  from  immediate  assault. — 
Again  the  excitement  somewhat  died  away ;  yet 
Venice  was  full  of  malcontents  ;  and  rumors 
grew  rifer  of  traitors,  even  in  the  senate,  though 
none  could  find  them  out.  Marco  Morosini  ap- 
peared singular  only  in  the  incontinent  utter- 
ance of  his  love  for  his  country,  not  in  feeling  it. 
The  works  to  fortify  the  approaches  to  the  city 
were  increased  and  hastened.  The  port  of 
Venice  was  closed  with  a  bastion  of  wood,  and 
three  large  vessels  were  stationed  across  it, 
lound  together  by  strong  chains,  and  filled  with 
armed  men,  with  bowmen,  and  with  the  rude 
artillery  now  first  used  by  the  Venetians.  The 
like  fortifications  were  completed  at  the  Fort  of 
Malamocco  :  and  a  fortified  ditch  and  palisade 
were  hastily  constructed  on  the  Lido.  Troops 
nowbegan  to  answer  the  sunmions  of  the  senate, 
and  were  encamped  on  the  long  islands  that  in- 
closed the  lagoons,  and  placed  under  the  com- 
mand of  Jacomo  de  Cavalli,  a  Veronese.  Thus 
the  signory  provided  for  the  present  safety  of 
the  city  ;  but  why,  asked  the  people,  was  Vittor 
Pisani  still  in  prison,  and  why  was  Carlo  Zeno 
unsummoned  ? 

Such  was  the  question  that  haunted  Sebastian 
as  he  repaired  one  evening  to  the  house  of  Ja- 
copo  Arduino.  It  was  one  that  disturbed  his 
present  happiness  ;  for  in  other  things  he  was 
comparatively  at  ease.  His  uncle,  Luigi  il 
Grasso,  had  ever  been  to  him  more  like  a  fa- 
ther than  his  own  parent,  except  that  the  good 
man  had  no  jot  of  sternness,  called  paternal,  in 
his  nature.  He  almost  rejoiced  at  the  youth's 
quarrel  with  his  father,  although  he  forced  him- 
self to  deplore  it  on  principle  ;  but  he  loved  to 
cherish  his  adopted  son.  And  he  unreserved- 
ly delighted  in  the  chance  which,  as  he  said, 
had  given  him  the  child  in  the  world  that  he 
would  soonest  have  chosen,  without  the  trouble 
of  a  wife.  Sebastian  had  always  loved  his  uncle 
for  his  overflowing  kindness  ;  he  had  now  fath- 
omed that  kindness  ;  and  he  found  it  inexhausti- 
ble and  enduring.  He  almost  blamed  himself 
for  keeping  any  secret  from  him,  but  he  feared 
to  trust  the  history  of  Teresa  to  the  outspeak- 
ing bachelor,  lest  all  Venice  should  know  it. — 
He  had  therefore  some  trouble  to  escape  his 
uncle,  and  when  he  did,  he  not  seldom  noticed 
a  humorous  wrinkling  of  the  fat  cavalier's  eyes, 
which  he  would  have  chased  away  with  the 
grave  truth  if  he  had  dared.  Occupying  the 
congenialpost  of  Provveditore  over  de'  Cavalli, 
his  father  now  gave  him  little  uneasiness,  and 
in  the  cares  of  state,  the  senator  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  his  amour  :  or  at  least  to  have  stern- 
ly withdrawn  from  an  enterprise  promising  so 
much  disagreeable  embarrasment.  Teresa  her- 
self had  become,  as  one  woman  does  at  some- 
time in  each  man's  life,  the  sunlight  of  his  ex- 
istence. To  him  however  the  change  was 
really  like  a  second  birth.  Growing  up  from 
childhood  with  his  sister,  he  had  viewed  her 
eager  affection  less  critically  :  it  was  only  what 
he  was  taught  by  his  religion  to  expect.  His 
early  remembrance  of  his  mother  painted  blood 
lelal'onship  in  the  same  colors.  His  father's 
rigor  was  a  mischance  to  be  borne,  not  deplor- 
ed ;  but  Morosini's  angry  nature  had  caused  so 


much  dissension  with  his  friends,  that  hra 
children  were  almost  alone,  except  on  state  and 
ceremonial  occasions  ;  and  the  youth's  free  and 
engaging  demeanor  had  procured  him  entrance 
to  many  gay  saloons, — aye,  even  to  some  more 
secret  retreats,  where  bright  eyes  and  ro'sy  lips 
were  neither  coy  nor  repelling.  ^  Home  then 
had  been  to  hiin  the  abode  of  tranquil  happi- 
ness, disturbed  but  not  destroyed  by  paternal 
rigor  ;  society  had  been  a  region  of  thoughtless 
pleasure,  thinking  not  of  its  own  vanity  and  de- 
cay. The  first  sight  of  Teresa's  face,  as  she 
leaned  fainting  on  his  shoulder,  read  him  a  new 
lesson  of  life  :  it  told  him  that  happiness,  such 
as  he  and  his  sister  had  known,  might  be  in- 
vaded by  crime  and  misery,  and  yet  survive  in 
the  noble  heart ;  that  pleasure,  as  he  had  known 
it,  was  mortal  in  itself,  and  destructive  to  more 
than  its  enjoyers  :  and  that  there  were  some 
things  in  existence  yet  unknown  to  him,  and 
not  then  to  be  interpreted.  For  a  time  Teresa 
was  a  riddle  that  he  scarcely  dared  to  solve. 
What  she  was,  her  way  of  life,  he  almost 
dreaded  to  know ;  and  tlien  again,  he  scorned 
himself  for  the  dread  before  it  had  gone.  He 
found  her  accept  his  kindness  with  a  simple 
willingness  that  in  any  other  woinan  would  have 
made  him  bold  ;  yet  he  was  held  back  by  a 
calm  firmness,  a  knowledge  as  well  of  what 
ought  not  to  be,  as  of  what  ought  to  be,  which 
surprised  and  alarmed  him,  yet  still  reassured 
him.  Helped  by  the  events  already  narrated, 
he  surprised  the  girl  out  of  her  history;  and 
then  he  rather  felt  than  knew  that  Teresa's 
knowledge  was  the  birth  of  adversity,  exalted  by 
full  faith  in  the  goodness  of  God,  and  of  God's 
last  work,  human  nature.  The  natural  reflec- 
tion of  the  intelligent  but  untaught  peasant 
girl  whom  Jacopo  Arduino  had  united  to  his 
troubles  and  disappointments,  and  the  affection 
of  the  children  who  grew  up  and  answered  to 
that  steadfast  love  which  the  vacillating  and 
ruined  gentleman  could  not  appreciate,  had 
taught  Biauca  a  primitive  philosophy  which 
made  her  reject  much  that  passes  for  truth  in  the 
world,  and  cling  only  to  those  elements  of  good- 
ness that  man  has  in  himself  naked  as  he  comes 
into  the  world  :  in  all  else  Bianca  had  been  dis- 
appointed. Her  native  wisdom,  and  such  learn- 
ing as  Teresa  could  gather  in  her  father's  pass- 
ing time  of  prosperity,  and  from  the  lips  of  the 
man  himself,  less  unaccomplished  tlian  unstable, 
fructified  in  the  daughter,  who  in  turn  strength- 
ened the  faith  of  the  mother,  and  found  new 
strength  herself  in  teaching  all  she  could  to  her 
brother  Ranieri,  too  young  to  have  reaped  any 
profit  from  their  father's  better  days.  This 
was  Bianca's  great  stay  in  the  weakness  of  her 
malady.  It  supported  Teresa  under  assaults  to 
which  her  unprotected  condition  exposed  her ; 
and  of  which  Sebastian  had  rescued  her  from 
the  worst.  -To  her  Sebastian  came  in  the  lime 
of  her  greatest  danger  :  misfortunes  had  taught 
her  a  decision  approaching  to  a  fatalism  in 
judging  of  character:  she  thought  she  read  his 
nature  in  his  ingenuous  face,  his  earnest  words, 
and  his  understanding  of  her  faith  :  she  accept- 
ed the  risk,  put  trust  in  him,  and  all  bar  to  their 
mutual  intelligence  disappeared.  From  the  tunc 
that  she  had  accepted  him  as  her  affianced,  she 
received  him  as  one  of  her  own  little  circle  in 
the  great  crowd  of  the  strange  woril,  and  had 


32 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


no  more  reserves  of  her  heart.  A  new  region 
was  disclosed  to  Sebastian,  who  entered  it  in  a 
reverent  spirit.  Her  whole  soul  was  opened  to 
liim  ;  from  her  he  learned  to  love  humanity,  of 
\\»!iich  ^he  seemed  the  purest  type  ;  and  the 
tenderness  of  love  was  exalted  by  becoming  the 
exponent  of  sympathies  which  had  their  birth 
not  less  in  a  grateful  intelligence,  than  in  the 
aflection  of  fast  and  tried  friends.  Sebastian 
^new  what  existence  was,  and  he  was  not  re- 
iiiss  in  attending  his  new  school. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

It  was  -lark  one  night  when  Sebastian  issued 
from  the  house.  He  heard  footsteps  behind 
him  as  he  walked  towards  the  ducal  palace,  but 
ihey  seemed  only  those  of  a  passenger,  who  like 
biinsclf  preferred  walking  to  interrupting  his 
uiQugbts  by  taking  to  a.  gondola.  As  he  ap- 
proached the  square,  the  steps  behind  him  has- 
tened, and  involuntarily  he  looked  round.  Ales- 
s;;mdi(j's  tall  and  ample  form  met  his  eye.  The 
foster  brother  drew  nigh,  and  said  in  a  tone  of 
murtiiied  kindness,  "  Messer  Sebastian  would 
nut  vouchsafe  to  answer  my  salute  as  he  left 
iiie  house." 

For  an  instant  Sebastian  felt  vexed,  and  al- 
most alarmed.  But  dismissing  the  fear  which 
surprised  him,  he  answered,  "  I  knew  you  not 
— indeed  I  saw  you  not,  Messer  Alessandro,  or 
I  should  not  so  far  have  forgot  myself.  You 
can  give  me  tidings  of  those  most  dear  to  me  : 
how  fares  my  sister!" 

"  Your  sister  is  well,  though  not  so  gay  as 
when  her  brother  was  by  her  side;  and  your 
father,"  added  the  foster  brother,  aflTecting  to 
understand  the  question  as  meant  for  both,  "  is 
also  well.  State  cares  keep  him  from  smaller 
ones,  which  should  fret  him  not.  Sebastian," 
continued  he,  assuming  a  graver  manner,  "I 
would  that  you  were  not  apart  from  your  house 
— from  your  father,  wiio  best  car.  bring  you  to 
your  right  station  in  Venice — from  your  sister, 
who  grieves  in  your  absence." 
^  "  I  would  so  loo  ;  but  you  know,  Messer  Ales- 
sandro, that  I  did  not  depart  of  my  own  ac- 
cord." 

•'  I  know,  I  know.  These  things  have  pass- 
ed. Sebastian,  and  it  is  not  well  that  you  should 
live  in  exde  from  the  house  of  your  fathers.  If 
you  would  suffer  me, — if  you  would  allow  my 
humble  aid  to  be  given,  it  should  not  be  so." 

'•Nay,  sir,  it  has  been,  and  it  is.  I  told  you 
before,  that  I  could  not  disclose  to  you  the  rea- 
,sons — but  if  you  knew  them,  you  would  know 
also  that  it  lay  not  with  me." 

"  It  might  lie,  Sebastian,  with  you  and  me. 
Could  I  have  grounds  for  it,  my  counsel  might 
prevail,  as  you  know.  Though  absent  from 
vour  family — or  rather  from  your  palace — you 
have  lived  at  peace — there  has  been  no  farther 
trouble  to  you  wlicre  you  most  would  feel  iti" 

Sebastian  was  silent.  He  neither  cared  to 
tell  anything  by  answering  to  these  hints,  nor 
to  check  anything  that  the  other  might  have  to 
tell. 

Alessandro  proceeded:  "There  are  things, 
Sebastian,  which  men  do  that  they  ought  not, 
yet  we  must  give  them  license,  except  it  be 


that  indulgence  is  against  their  own  determined 
judgment ;  and  then  we  can  use  them  against 
themselves.  I  speak  to  you  openly,  for  I  know 
you  to  be  ingenuous  and  of  good  faith.  Then, 
I  say,  that  though  you  are  young,  though  you 
feel  the  spur  of  passion,  yet  are  you  in  some 
matters  less  vehement  than  your  father;  there- 
fore should  you  somewhat  pardon  in  him  what 
you  would  not  in  me — nor  in  yourself  Yet 
must  we  not  talk  to  liim  of  pardon,  or  his  hasty 
nature  would  take  offence.  But,  truly  because 
I  do  not  often  cross  your  father  in  matters  of 
which  I  have  little  experience,  for  iny  station 
is  less  suited  to  gayety  and  ease  than  if  I  couid 
boast  the  noble  name  of  a  Morosini, — for  that 
very  reason  have  I  more  influence  ;  and  could 
I  back  it  with  reasons  to  him,  I  might  so  move 
him  to  your  desire,  that  the  path  of  father  and 
son  should  not  unseemly  jostle  each  other." 
Sebastian  still  was  silent. 
"I  should  grieve,"  continued  Alessandro,  "if 
your  pride  or  my  unworthiness  debarred  from 
you  the  service  that  you  most  would  desire ; 
and  you  know  what  it  is  when  I  say  that.  Se- 
bastian, 1  fear  my  uncouth  and  too  grave  dis- 
positions have  not  gained  for  me  what  I  have 
so  often  hoped  for — your  good  will." 

"Nay,  Messer  Alessandro,  you  never  gave 
me  cause  to  withhold  it;  but  — "  Sebastian 
hesitated  :  the  foster  brother  indeed  bad  not 
his  good  will ;  he  believed  him  sycophant  and 
traitor  ;  yet  was  there  little  more  than  bare  sus- 
picion. -  He  might  wrong  the  man  ;  and  right 
or  wrong,  he  had  nothing  to  tell  for  his  dislike. 
Alessandro  accepted  the  unsaid  disclaimer. 
"We  shall  know  each  other  better.  I  do  not 
mistake  what  you  most  would  wish  V 

"  Not  if  I  understand,  where  your  words  arc 
so  dark." 

"  I  feared  to  offend  you  by  speaking  too  sud- 
denly. To  be  frank,  then,  you  would  have  no 
bar  to  your  passion — you  believe  that  you  have 
the  worst  in  your  father  ;  but,  if  I  boast  not  in 
saying  so,  I  could  remove  it.  I  could  remove 
it,  having  reasons." 

Sebastian  still  hesitated.  He  liked  not  even 
to  be  served  by  one  whom  he  so  suspected ; 
both  for  mistrust  of  treachery,  and  for  shamo 
that  he  should  hate,  where  he  would  take  a 
debt  of  gratitude  which  he  scarce  could  pay. 
He  had  turned  back  with  the  foster  brother  to 
avoid  meeting  any  friend  in  the  piazza  ;  and 
they  walked  for  a  while  in  silence  ;  Alessandro 
at  times  stopping,  looking  at  the  stars  that  peep- 
ed through  the  slowly  moving  clouds,  and  car- 
rying himself  like  one  that  was  in  no  haste  for 
an  answer.  Sebastian  suddenly  stopped,  and 
said,  "  You  speak  of  reasons,  Messer  Alessan- 
dro :  if  I  could  serve  you,  it  might  be  less  diffi- 
cult for  you  to  serve  me." 

"  You  are  even  prouder  than  your  father,  Se- 
l)astian  !  There  might  be  reasons,  and  I  need 
not  tell  you  that  there  are  reasons,  which  weigh 
much  with  your  father.  Sebastian,  I  must, 
chiefly  for  his  safety,  hold  you  pledged  to  secre- 
cy in  what  I  say." 

"  If  the  secret  be  one  that  a  Venetian  may 
know,  say  on." 

"  Nay,  a  Venetian  knows  it — your  father. 
But  the  secrecy  must  be  without  condition." 

"  I  will  be  secret.  I  will  be  secret  in  all  tha* 
you  tell  me — in  all  as  it  is  lojd  me  by  you ;  but 


'Itti:  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


33 


I  will  not  plinlgo  myself  to  secrei-y  in  all  thai  I 
may  know  hereafter,  even  though  it  should 
touch  what  you  disclose." 

*'  Enough  :  I  trust  to  your  good  honor.  You 
know  that  Venice  is  menaced  by  a  mighty 
league  against  her;  and  that  her  most  powerful 
foe — the  foe  most  powerful  against  her,  whose 
power  is  on  the  sea,  threatens  this  very  city 
with  destruction. " 

"Genoa." 

"The  same.  You  know  moreover,  that  Ge- 
noa is  the  hand  that  strilces  the  blow,  but  that 
it  is  not  the  head  that  moves  the  will." 

"  Carrara  is  the  most  dangerous  of  our  ene- 
mies." 

"  These  are  no  secrets.  True,  Carrara  is 
the  most  dangerous  of  our  enemies,  and  the 
most  wicked  ;  but  he  is  not  the  most  obstinate. 
There  is  even  some  manner  of  justice  in  his 
anger;  for  has  not  Venice  humbled  his  proud 
spirit  past  bearing  1  And  were  we  right,  could 
we  trample  him  in  the  dust,  and  look  for  his 
blessing  upon  our  work"!  He  hates  Venice  be- 
cause Venice  is  terrible  to  him.  But,  I  know  this 
man,  Sebastian,  and  I  can  say  to  you  that  he  is 
a  vain  proud  man  ;  haughty  under  oppression, 
elated  with  little  courtesy  to  him.  Without 
stooping  to  him,  but  rather  casting  to  him  some 
f.ivor  as  from  on  high  to  one  below,  Venice 
could  make  him  her  slave  ;  and  so  could  make 
all  this  danger  that  threatens  her,  wanting  its 
head  and  spirit,  disperse.  All  these  great  works 
that  we  build  up,  all  these  armies  that  we  col- 
lect, all  this  vast  cost  which  wastes  our  sub- 
sinnce,  might  be  spared  by  one  word  to  this 
tnan,  who  is  our  enemy  perforce,  and  who 
jjiight  be  our  slave." 

Sebastian  listened  in  silence.  He  cast  a 
glance  on  Alessandro's  face,  the  sounds  of  his 
powerful  but  subdued  voice  still  vibrating  in  the 
air  about  his  ears  :  the  foster  brother  was  erect, 
with  his  face  bent  to  the  young  man;  a  little 
lamp  cast  on  it  from  the  shrine  of  the  Virgin 
a  glooming  light,  and  its  expression  did  not 
wrong  that  holy  gleam.  It  was  austere,  but 
earnest  :  Sebastian  doubted  whether  any  guile 
hirked  there. 

Alessandro  continued  :  "  Now,  it  happens 
that,  though  Venice  might  well  pardon  the  of- 
fender, those  who  rule  in  Venice  cannot  do  so ; 
fur  they  it  is  that  oppressed  him,  and  to  do 
otherwise  now  were  like  a  confession  of  wrong. 
Venice  and  her  rulers  are  not  one :  Venice  will 
survive  the  men  that  govern  her;  the  men 
themselves  might  survive  their  counsels.  Other 
rulers  might  chase  away  all  this  peril  to  our  be- 
loved city,  without  dishonor  to  the  Queen  of  the 
Adriatic." 

"  I  doubt,  Messer  Alessandro,  whither  yon 
svould  go,  or  whether  I  ought  to  listen  farther. 
This,  methinks,  draws  near  to  something  too 
dark — too  intricate  for  my  judgment.  At  my 
ago  men  act ;  at  yours  they  take  counsel  and 
direct  action.  Therefore  should  you  rather  say 
these  things  to  tny  father  than  to  mo." 

"  They  have  been  said  to  your  father." 

Sebastian  started. 

"  And  farther,  you  have  heard  too  much  not 
lo  hear  more.  Sebastian,  the  highest  post  in 
Venice  has  been  offered  to  your  father." 

Sebastian  was  alarmed — "  And  he  refused 
ill" 

£ 


"  He  refused  it.  It  was  offi  red  to  him  wrong- 
fully, and  he  nobly  refused  it.  Yet  are  there 
those  in  Venice,  neither  few  nor  powerless, 
who  would  rather  that  he  should  have  it.  Were 
it  bestowed  upon  him  by  Venice,  there  could  to 
her  be  no  wrong  done  ;  the  safety  to  her  you 
know.  Now  for  the  hearing  which  tliis  has 
upon  your  fortunes.  Were  Marco  Morosini 
Doge  of  Venice,  he  must  of  necessity  put  a  curb 
upon  those  passions  which  disfigure  even  the 
senatoi*  for  the  doge  lives  in  the  world's  re- 
gard, and  Marco  Morosini  would  never  consent 
to  mock  the  fate  of  Pietro  Candiano,  who  per- 
ished in  revolt,  because  his  lawless  love  had 
wronged  a  woman  of  Venice.  Contrary  wise, 
if  he  knew  you  to  be  engaged  in  the  state  as 
befits  the  dignity  of  your  birth — if  he  knew  you 
useful  to  me — to  me  as  his  lieutenant,  or  rather 
as  his  humble  servant,  seeking  no  rank  nor 
fame,  but  only  his  welfare — there  would  be  no- 
thing that  he  would  refuse  to  my  counsel  on 
your  behalf.  Sebastian,  you  see  that  I  put  all 
trust  in  you  ;  that  I  trust  my  own  safety — 
which  indeed  I  regard  not — but  that  also  of 
your  father,  in  your  keeping.  Traitois  ever 
gladly  suspect  and  charge  treason  against  those 
who,  hiding  from  treason,  are  fain  to  put  on  a 
disguise  ;  and  were  what  I  have  said  to  you 
known  by  others,  that  life  might  be  forfeit 
which  gave  you  yours.  Of  all  the  youth  of 
Venice,  Sebastian, — and  I  say  it  almost  with  a 
father's  pride — you  are  the  one  most  sure  to 
reach  fame  and  high  station.  Your  choice  of 
a  path  is  before  you:  you  might  help  rne  most 
signally  to  shake  off  this  weight  of  trouble  on 
Venice,  if  you  will  not  hastily  spurn  my  proffer- 
ed friendship  ;  and,  doing  so,  you  might  most 
safely  and  suddenly  pass  to  the  end  of  all  your 
desires.  I  have  said  all,  until  you  bid  me  to 
say  more." 

A  long  silence  followed,  broken  by  Sebastian, 
who  said  : — "  Well  Messer  Alessandro,  I  have 
heard,  and  I  will  be  secret.  If  I  were  to  an- 
swer you  now,  I  should  say  what  would  little 
satisfy  you,  but  I  will  stay  till  the  morning.  I 
say  again,  that  at  my  years  it  is  rather  for  mei» 
to  act,  directed  by  those  whom  they  find  to 
guide  them.  But  I  will  think  of  it  ;  so  now, 
good  night." 

"  You  answer  as  I  hoped.  Farewell.  Con- 
sult your  own  heart  and  honor,  and  I  fear  not. 
Heaven  bless  you,  my  son."  Alessandro  ab- 
ruptly walked  on  to  St.  Mark's  place ;  and  Se- 
bastian saw  him  making  his  way  straight  across 
it  into  the  gloom,  with  the  measured  speed  of  a 
man  confident  in  his  purpose.  Going  a  few 
steps  towards  the  square,  Sebastian  stopped. 
Relieved  of  the  fester  brother's  imposing  pre- 
sence, he  now  thought  only  of  his  words  rather 
than  his  own  answer  ;  the  rumors  against  .Ales- 
sandro rose  fresh  in  his  mind  ;  he  was  shocked 
though  he  almost  knew  it  before,  to  find  how 
great  was  the  sway  which  the  Paduan  exercised 
over  bis  father.  He  was  alarmed  for  two  rea- 
sons :  though  his  father  repulsed  liim  so  far  from 
his  side  that  he  thought  not  of  interposing,  he 
liked  not  to  see  him  thus  bound  to  a  suspected 
traitor.  Alessandro's  plea  for  Carrara ;  his 
knowledge  of  a  treasonable  offer  mar'e  to  Mar- 
co Morisini — his  sudden  disappearance  at  Lido 
—filled  Sebastian  with  suspicions  to  which  he 
could  not  give  shape.     On  the  other  hand,  the 


34 


THK  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


fdstei  hidthor's  knowledge  ol'  the  father's  law- 
less fiasions — his  playing  with  them — the  pre- 
sence of  his  retainer  in  Bianca's  chamber,  sug- 
gested woise  suspicions.  Yet,  again,  there 
was  a  show  of  reason  in  what  the  man  said. 
Sebastian  was  perplexed.  The  bond  of  secrecy 
prevented  his  asking  counsel  of  Edward.  By  a 
little  prevarication  he  persuaded  himself  that  it 
had  one  exception  ;  and  after  some  hours'  pa- 
cing up  and  down  in  the  dark  streets,  he  retraced 
Ills  steps,  to  advise  on  this  mystery  *f  state 
whicli  touched  him  so  nearly,  with  the  young 
and  artless  girl  who  had  becoiDe  part  of  his 
being. 

He  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  house,  and  a 
gruff  voice  v\'ithin  asked,  •' Who  goes  there?" 
" 'Tis  I,"  said  Seiiastian  softly,  "your  friend. 
Master  Turnbull."  The  Englishirian  cautiously 
opened  the  door,  offering  his  broad  chest  as  a 
stop  gap.  Seeing  Sebastian,  by  a  little  light 
which  he  held  in  his  hand,  he  drew  back,  saying, 
with  abroad  grin,  "You  begin  to  come  oftener, 
Master  Sebastian  ;  I  think  you  had  need  to  set 
a  porter  at  this  door,  to  save  more  tender  feet 
than  this" — and  he  gave  a  little  stamp  on  the 
ground  which  might  have  crushed  a  man  to 
death.  Sebastian  smiled  :  "  Good  Master  Turn- 
bull,  I  fear  you  are  like  to  die  here  rather  of 
weariness  for  want  of  company,  than  of  trouble 
in  opening  the  door."  "True,  master,  true. 
But  I  fear  me  they  have  gone  to  bed  above — 
though  I  ought  not  to — "  "  Never  mind,  good 
Turnbull,  if  they  are  a-bed  I  will  go  out  again 
quietly,  and  you  shall  open  the  door  again  by 
daylight.  But  let  us  see."  And  he  passed  up 
stairs. 

Bianca  had  long  retired  to  rest ;  and  Ranieri's 
tired  limbs  were  gaining  strength  in  sleep  ;  Te- 
resa was  reading  one  of  some  few  books  that 
Sebastian  had  lent  to  her,  partly  for  love  of  all 
knowledge,  partly  because  he  had  lent  it  to  her, 
and  because  she  liked  to  render  herself  more 
wortliy  of  the  love  which  she  had  created.  She 
turned  to  him  as  he  entered,  in  some  dismay  at 
his  return,  with  a  grave  and  thoughtful  face. 
He  told  her  all  that  the  foster  brother  had  said, 
all  that  he  suspected  him  to  mean,  and  his 
belief  that  the  man  had  the  power  to  b'^nd  his 
father's  will  to  sanction  their  union.  Teresa 
remained  calm,  though  her  color  changed  often 
as  she  gazed  on  her  companion's  face. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  for  I  am  bewildered  be- 
tween wishes  and  mistrusts — suspicions  and 
doubts,  whether  those  suspicions  are  just — tell 
me  what  I  should  do." 

"Why  do  you,  who  are  practised  in  the 
world  and  in  its  intrigues,  and  so  well  practised 
that  you  have  avoided  them,  come  to  me  for 
counsel,  who  know  nothing  of  such  matters'? 
You  are  fitter  to  teach  me  than  I  to  teach  you." 

"  Because,  Teresa,  in  learning  the  world's 
ways,  we  also  unlearn  the  instinctive  habit  of 
looking  at  men's  acts  in  their  simple  truth,  so 
that  our  taste,  more  practised,  is  less  discrimi- 
nating, especially  when  we  desire  to  escape 
from  a  maze  of  cross  reasoning  iiy  some  clue  of 
natural  sense  and  goodness  ;  and  I  seek  it 
where  I  have  ever  found  it.  You  are  the  wisest 
of  us  all,  because  you  have  preserved  to  yourself 
the  faith  in  which  you  were  born.  Why  do  you 
look  into  me  so  ?  you  did  il  when  I  first  saw 
vou,  just  as  voii  do  now." 


"  I  looked  into  yon  then,  I  supppose,  thcit  I 
might  know  what  you  were ;  and  I  look  now,  I 
believe,  because  I  love  to  see  you  as  you  are. 
Nay,  if  you  blush,  I  shall  think  that  we  have 
unseemly  changed  places,  and  that  you  are  the 
maiden." 

Sebastian  kissed  the  hand  he  held.  "But 
you  do  not  answer  me." 

"  If  this  man  is  what  you  suspect,  there  is  no 
safety  in  him.  Listen  to  him  no  more  ;  or  lis- 
ten to  him  only,  if  he  consent  that  your  com- 
pact shall  be  made  aloud  in  the  market-place  ; 
for  be  sure,  if  you  venture  with  him  into  the 
secret  abodes  of  his  own  dark  mind,  he  will 
ensnare  you  there." 

"  It  was  my  thought,  and  therefore  I  scarcely 
for  a  moment  hoped  for  what  he  seemed  to  pro- 
mise." 

"  Dear  Sebastian,  such  a  man  as  he  cannot 
give  anything  half  so  precious  as  you  can  take 
for  yourself  Be  it  that  we  were  married  in  all 
your  father's  stale,  and  lived  ever  after  in  a  re 
gion  of  fraud  and  treachery.  W^ould  that  he 
union?  Would  it  not  rather  be  separation — 
estrangement  of  our  trust  in  each  other!  Can 
we,  by  letting  this  Alessandro  come  between 
us,  draw  our  love  closer  than  it  is?  Listen  to 
him  no  more." 

"  I  can  listen,  dearest,  only  to  one  voice. 
But  if  we  may  not  be  united  as  he  would  help 
us,  the  greater  the  reason  why  you  should  give 
me  the  best  of  rights  to  protect  you  always,  to  be 
your  guard  night  and  day,  though  I  cannot  bring 
you  the  wealth  and  splendor  of  my  forefathers." 

To  this  plea,  however,  Teresa  would  not  lis- 
ten. She  would  not  suffer  him  in  so  much 
haste  to  forego  the  condition  to  which  he  was 
born  ;  nor  would  she,  while  her  father  was  wan 
dering  in  exile,  set  his  parental  authority  at 
nought.  She  had  never,  she  said,  been  so  well 
protected — never  so  happy  as  now ;  but  her 
father  must  share  her  happiness.  Sebastian 
was  unconvinced  :  but  the  kiss  which  Teresa 
suffered  him  to  take  from  her  trembling  lips-- 
and  which  those  trembling  lips  returned — was 
so  sweet,  that  he  forgot  the  hard  future. 

Teresa's  cheek  still  lay  on  his  shoulder,  when 
the  loud  sound  of  a  bell  startled  them.  It  was 
the  bell  of  St.  Mark's :  some  uevj  danger  threat- 
ened Venice.  Listening  with  knitted  brow, 
Sebastian  rose  from  his  seat.  Teresa  clasped 
his  hand — "  What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"  I  know  not ;  but  there  must  be  soine  heavy 
danger,  that  the  bell  should  sound  at  this  hour. 
Dearest,  it  cannot  threaten  you,  or  the  place 
would  not  be  so  quiet :  it  is  some  news  from 
the  shore.  But  I  must  be  at  my  post — I  must 
leave  you,  when  most  I  would  stay." 

"  And  when  most  I  would  have  you  stay  :  it 
is  worse  when  the  danger  which  you  go  to  meet 
does  7iol  threaten  me."  Her  brow  again  sunk 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  spell-bound  him  to  the. 
spot.  But  the  toll  of  the  bell  went  on  with  its 
loud  summons.  He  obeyed  it :  and  tore  him 
self  from  the  agitated  girl. 

A  heavy  prcsentinaent  made  him  give  Turn 
bull  a  purse  of  money  to  supply  his  wants  till  he 
should  return;  with  a  new  admonition  not  lo 
leave  his   post,   though   Venice  should  be  be- 
sieged. 

"Fcisr  iioihing.  Master  Sebastian,"  said  the 
3ol(li(M-.  •■  M;i.sier  Cooke  loves  Venice,  and  no: 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER.  35 

a  giri  in  Christeiulom  could  draw  him  from  the  I  ceased,  to  ease  Uie  ringer's  arms,  and  life  awoke. 
'        '  ■     ^  He  started  forward,  saying — "  At  least  I  cannol 

stay,  till  I  know  what  that  bell  means." 

"Nay,  then  I  can  tell  you,  without  going  fa'- 
ther." 
"Whatl" 

"It  means  that  the  Genoese  hold  Chiozza." 
Sebastian  rushed  on,  and  entered  the  palace 


fight :  now  1  have  learned  to  love  the  face  we 
know  so  well,  that  Venice  might  go  to  the  winds 
before  a  hair  on  that  blessed  head  should  be 
hurt." 

"  Master  <3ooke  is  right,  friend  ;  but  you  are 
more  right.     And  so  good  night." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

As  he  issued  from  the  door,  the  loud  clangor 
of  the  bell  swelled  to  a  roar ;  and  he  could  al- 
ready hear  a  growing  bustle  in  the  city.  He 
hastened  towards  St.  Mark's.  As  he  entered 
the  place,  Alessandro  stood  before  him. 

"  Well,  Messer  Sebastian,  day  begins  again 
betimes,  and  you  have  had  a  short  night  for  your 
resolve." 

"  Short,  yet  long  enough." 

"It  is  made,  then — you  consenti" 

"  No,  Messer  Alessandro.  I  have  come  back 
to  the  place  whence  I  started,  and  say  again, 
that  my  youth  is  best  for  action  under  those 
whom  I  find  as  the  guides  set  over  me  ;  and  least 
of  all  now  can  I  stop  to  parley  while  that  bell  is 
calling  all  Venetians  to  do." 

Alessandro's  face  assumed  that  absolute  nul- 
lity of  expression,  a  mask-like  passionless  re- 
gard, with  which  he  had  taught  himself  to  con- 
ceal all  surprise  and  anger.  It  gave  for  an  in- 
stant to  his  stern  features,  strongly  marked  with 
the  thick  black  hair  that  adorned  his  brow  and 
face,  even  a  more  inhuman  aspect  than  rage  it- 
self. 

"  'Tis  well.  You  have  your  choice,  Sebas- 
tian. I  grieve  that  you  will  not  make  your  hap- 
piness and  safety  part  of  my  plans  ;  but  you  will 
not  suffer  it.  Still,  though  you  will  spurn  me, 
I  will  serve  you  all  I  can  ;  but  I  fear  new  dan- 
gers where  you  most  would  fear  them." 

Sebastian's  footsteps  were  again  arrested — 
"  What  mean  you  V' 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  Your  father  has  a  head- 
strong will,  and  is  difficult  to  thwart." 

"You  mean  something!  What  does  my  fa- 
ther threaten  now  1" 

"  Nothing,  I  say.  I  speak  in  doubt  only  of 
the  future." 

Sebastian  could  not  stir.  In  Alessandro's 
calm  profession  of  fear  he  read  the  threat  that 
lurked  in  it :  he  remembered  the  ill-defended 
state  in  which  Teresa  remained.  A  world  of 
thoughts  crowded  to  his  brain  ;  whereof  the 
u;ost  distinct  was,  that  longer  uncertainty  was 
ititdicrable,  and  that  Teresa  must  surely  be  his 
(HI  the  morrow. 

Alessandro  partly  guessed  his  thought  ;  but 
purily  mistook  it  for  yielding.  "  You  do  well 
;■)  (Kinder,  before  it  is  too  late.  A  few  steps 
more,  and  you  might  have  entered  on  the  path 
that  you  could  not  recall.  Think  you  that 
(lu^ht  unworthy  is  required  of  you.  Rather  is 
everything  honorable  offered  —  power,  fame, 
l..ve." 

Sebastian  still  hesitated.  He  had  become  al- 
most used  to  the  swinging  roar  of  the  bell ;  and 
lio  fell  into  a  sort  of  waking  dream,  in  which 
liie  hell,  the  foster  brother's  voice,  and  the 
shouts  of  the  people  sounded  like  remote  and 
.ilicn  noises.     For  an  instntit  the  dreadful  tolling 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

When  Sebastian  left  the  foster  brother  so 
suddenly,  Alessandro  remained  for  a  while  as  il 
amazed  and  angry  ;  then  shaking  ofT  the  weak- 
ness, he  turned  and  walked  away  at  a  quick 
pace.  For  some  time  he  pressed  on,  like  a  man 
bent  on  reaching  the  goal ;  passing  over  many 
bridges,  and  threading  the  narrowest  calli  that 
he  could  choose.  He  did  not  stop  till  he  reach- 
ed a  house  in  an  obscure  part  of  the  city,  by 
Canareggio,  in  the  midst  of  others  occupied  by 
fishers,  and  such  poor  persons.  He  knocked  at 
the  door.  It  was  speedily  opened  by  a  woman 
bearing  a  light  in  her  hand.  When  she  saw  her 
visiter  she  gave  a  scarcely  perceptible  start, 
but  at  once  opened  the  door  wider,  and  let  him 
enter.  He  did  so,  and  passed  through  the  first 
kind  of  little  hall  into  a  room  beyond,  as  if  he 
were  familiar  with  the  path.  The  woman  hav- 
ing closed  the  door,  the  foster  brother  turned 
and  embraced  her  somewhat  hastily,  and  then 
proceeded  to  lay  aside  his  cap  and  cloak.  That 
done  he  again  eyed  his  hostess.  She  was  a 
young  woman,  but  tall  and  large,  of  proportions 
like  his  own,  such  as  furnished  models  for  the 
art  then  rising  in  Italy.  Her  brow  was  tine  and 
compact ;  her  cheeks  nobly  rounded ;  and 
through  the  dark  brown  of  her  skin  the  blood 
glowed  in  its  ruddy  course  ;  her  features  were 
regular,  but  boldly  rounded,  and  her  large  black 
eyes  were  so  shaded  by  long  lashes,  and  so  fine- 
ly bordered  by  the  even  arch  of  the  eyebrows, 
that  their  intentness  was  solemn  rather  than 
stern  ;  her  throat  rose  like  a  column  from  her 
well  curved  shoulders  and  ample  bosom,  the 
luxuriant  form  of  which  was  veiled,  but  not 
hidden,  by  the  coarse  dress  she  wore  ;  nor  did 
it  hide  the  turn  of  the  limbs,  whose  just  propor- 
tion gave  a  look  of  smallness  and  delicacy  to 
hands  and  feet,  with  which  Ceres  might  have 
grasped  her  dragons'  reins,  or  pressed  her  yield- 
ing axle-tree.  She  sufTered  Alessandro's  salute 
in  silence  ;  watched  his  movements  with  an  ex- 
pression bctwi.vt  curiosity  and  IndifTerence,  and 
returned  his  more  leisurely  gaze  with  a  fixed 
look  of  tranquility,  which  seemed  more  habitual 
than  constrained. 

Alessandro  vyas  the  first  to  speak — "  You  givr 
me  a  silent  welcome,  Rosa." 

"  I  had  a  warmer  one  ready  for  you,  Alessan- 
dro ;  but  it  died  months  ago  for  want  of  use." 

"As  beautiful  as  ever,  and  as  cruel!  But 
you  know  that  it  is  not  discreet  to  reproach  a 
lagging  lover,  for  love  is  the  only  passion  that 
caimot  be  spurred." 

"  I  do  not  reprove  you.  The  loss  is  more  yours 
than  mine." 

Alessandro  smiled.  "If  you  boast,  I  shall 
think  you  proud  ;  and  if  proud,  you  may  be  tlat- 
tered  into  kindness." 


36 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


"You  do  not  understand  me,  or  you  would 
not  think  me  boastful,  when  I  say  that  he  who 
leaves  love  of  his  own  free  will,  loses  more  than 
he  who  has  it  taken  from  him." 

"  My  books  do  not  teach  me  that  he  who 
throws  away  a  thing  loses  more  than  he  who 
cannot  help  his  loss." 

"  And  you  have  no  wisdom  but  what  you  find 
in  your  books !" 

"  But  who  talked  of  leaving  love  V 

"  I  talked  of  it ;  you  have  dene  it." 

"  Why,  am  I  not  here,  the  same  as  ever?' 

"  Yes,  you  are  the  same  as  ever,  perhaps  ;  but 
love  has  starved  while  you  are  away,  and  I  am 
altered." 

"  Rosa  mine,"  said  the  foster  brother,  laying 
aside  his  bantering  air,  and  speaking  with  his 
customary  stern  precision,  "  you  talk  folly.  I 
have  been  away  solely  because  the  whole  for- 
tunes of  Venice  have  weighed  on  my  shoulders; 
I  come,  even  now,  because  I  need  your  help — 
and  partly,  perhaps,  silly  girl,  because  I  was 
only  too  willing  to  come."  He  was  about  to 
take  her  hand,  but  she  drew  back  a  step. 

"  Alessandro,  I  looked  for  you  again.  I  knew 
— I  have  seen  it  well  enough,  that  even  your 
cold  heart  must  have  its  fits  of  love,  and  I  knew 
that  you  had  already  chosen  her  who  in  all 
Padua,  and  Venice  too,  best  pleased  your  nice 
taste.  Therefore  I  expected  you.  But  two 
wills  go  to  all  bargains.  Ours  has  hitherto  been 
a  cheat ;  for  I  gave  love,  you  gave — your  own 
pleasure.  I  expected  you :  you  have  left  me 
.eisure  to  think  of  all  that  I  could  do  ;  and  I  was 
teady  for  you  long  ago.  From  this  time  I  will 
love  just  as  well  as  you — no  more  ;  and  you 
shall  do  my  pleasure  before  I  do  yours." 

Alessandro  paused.  His  passion  rose  at  being 
crossed  ;  and  starting  from  his  seat,  he  cried, 
"  Fool — fool — beware  !" 

Her  color  changed  not,  as  she  answered : — 
"Do  not  threaten.  You  could  not  so  soon  sub- 
due these  limbs,  if  they  were  once  unwilling, 
but  what  I  could  proclaim  you  before  I  died. 
But  I  am  the  fool  to  threaten.  I  say  again, 
that  while  you  have  slaid  away,  I  have  taken 
thought,  and  what  J  have  resolved,  I  do.  I  shall 
force  you  to  nothing ;  but  I  will  not  be  forced 
neither." 

"  What  mean  youl" 

"  That  I  will  be  your  wife." 

"And  do  you  not  call  this  folly  1  My  wife  ! 
would  you  be  content  to  be  nothing  but  a  wife  1 
Why,  Rosina,  I  love  you — aye,  doubt  as  you 
will — I  love  you.  I  have  told  you  that  a  wife 
may  have  to  serve  my  turn  in  other  things. 
Let  my  plans  answer,  and  perhaps  I  must  wed 
to  crown  them  :  but  Rosina  shall  always  be  my 
love,  and  at  her  feet  shall  I  lay  my  triumphs." 

"  You  are  choice  in  compliments,  Alessan- 
dro." 

"Do  not  be  the  fool  you  are  not,  Rosa.  Be- 
cause habit  makes  me  speak  after  a  fashion,  do 
not  believe,  as  common  women  do,  that  I  do 
not  feel  it  too,  even  as  well  as  those  who  have 
not  the  art  of  saying  what  they  feel." 

"  It  is  difficult  to  divide  men's  thoughts  from 
their  speech  ;  and  there  are  some  kinds  of  learn- 
ing that  one  moment's  sorrow  can  unlearn  " 

"This  is  idle.  Do  not  be  unkind,  Rosina. 
If  I  were  a  nohle,  I  would  at  onre  give  all  to 
norchase  you." 


"  I  believe  that." 

"But  I  must  first  be  noble.  Yau  are  silent 
— you  do  not  deny  that.  Let  us  not  waste 
sweet  moments  in  quarrel."  He  approached  to 
caress  her,  but  she  calmly  put  him  back  with 
her  hand. 

"  I  have  said  what  I  have  resolved,  Alessan- 
dro ;  I  am  your  wife,  or  not  your  wife.  You 
said  you  wanted  my  help — what  is  if!" 

Sooth  to  say,  the  foster  brother  was  rather 
relieved  by  the  question  ;  for  although  his  love, 
as  he  pleased  to  call  it,  was  not  all  affected,  and 
the  sight  of  Rosa  had  revived  recollections 
which  tickled  his  fancy,  he  was  just  then  bent 
on  other  enterprise,  and  her  coldness  cut  short 
his  road  to  the  end  he  hoped  to  gain  by  flattery. 
Bidding  her  sit  down,  therefore,  and  listen  pa- 
tiently, he  recounted  to  her  what  he  knew  of 
Teresa's  history,  Morosini's  pursuit  of  her,  and 
Sebastian's  love.  "Now,"  he  continued,  "you 
know  well  that  much  that  I  do  is  done  through 
this  brother  of  mine — that  losing  him,  I  lose  hall 
my  power  in  Venice.  He  is  as  much  my  servant 
as  I  would  have  him.  But  in  this  Sebastian  I 
have  a  more  powerful  man  to  encounter.  I 
could  almost  doubt  whether  the  sam.e  blood  runs 
in  Marco  and  myself,  but  that  in  Sebastian  I  see 
my  own  strength.  I  have  tried  in  every  way — 
I  told  you  how,  when  he  parted  from  his  father 
— to  bend  him  to  me;  but  he  escapes  me.  I 
tried  him  through  his  love,  but  the  fool  does  not 
see  his  own  danger.  There  is  one  way  left, 
before  I  try  to  crush  him  ;  I  would  rather  win 
him — and  that,  Rosa,  may  tell  you  how  little 
cold  I  am — I  would  rather  win  him  ;  and  there 
is  one  way  left — to  win  the  girl.  You  see 
thati" 

"  Aye." 

"  But  how  1  I  dare  hardly  go  near  her  ;  fcr 
I  suspect  that  already  she  thinks  of  me  as  if  I 
favored  that  aged  libertine  Marco,  and  I  swea" 
that  I  have  hardly  done  so.  How  then  to  a[> 
proach  her]  This  is  where  I  want  your  help, 
Ro.sa." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  she  has  power  over 
your  nephew  !" 

"  He  would  abandon  everything  for  her — rank, 
power,  glory — all." 

"  But  how  has  she  such  power,  if  she  loves 
not  himl" 

"  Why  she  does  love  him — madly.  When 
Nadale  was  in  their  house  to  seize  Jacopo,  she 
looked  when  he  came  in  as  if  her  good  angel 
had  returned." 

"And  you  would  have  me  spoil  this  love?" 

"  Folly,  girl !  can  they  not  love  because  I  am 
fortunate  1  Love  can  have  its  h'our  and  the 
state  by  turns." 

"What  should  I  do  thenl" 

"  Go  to  this  Teresa,  tell  her  that  a  danger 
threatens  her  Sebastian  ;  that  unmeasured  pow- 
er is  within  his  reach  ;  that  they  may  wed  to- 
morrow, and  almost  reign  in  Venice.  Will  you 
not  do  this  for  mel" 

Rosa  looked  angrily  at  her  companion — almost 
with  hate.  He  did  not  seem  to  notice  the  look, 
i)ut  continued  to  await  her  answer.  After  a 
long  pause,  she  said — "I  will  go." 

Disregarding  the  praise  which  hurst  with  un- 
wonted warmth  from  Alessandru"s  lips,  the  girl 
rose  from  her  seat,  and  bringing  forth  some 
bread  and  fruit  and  wine,  she  laid  it  on  the  labl* 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


37 


?or  ncr  companion's  supper,  as  if  she  were  per- 
forming a  familiar  taslv.  Wlien  it  was  ready, 
he  began  to  eat.  Rosa  did  not  join  him,  but 
sat  apart,  taking  up  some  work  which  his  com- 
ing had  interrupted.  She  was  making  a  large 
net.  Alessandro  was  a  temperate  man,  and 
but  a  little  of  his  frugal  meal  sufficed  to  appease 
his  hunger.  He  watched  Rosa  at  her  work. 
Suddenly  his  face  changed,  but  he  spoke  calmly 
as  he  said — "It  is  just  as  it  was  wont  to  be, 
Rosa,  except  in  one  thing — do  not  you  eat  V 

"  I  have  eaten,"  she  answered,  as  she  con- 
tinued her  work. 

Presently  he  saio,  "  That  is  rough  work  for 
fair  hands.  Do  you  often  do  such  work, 
Rosa  V 

"Every  day,  till  this  be  done." 

"Have  you  turned  fisher T'  There  was  no 
answer  ;  and  Alessandro  hesitated  before  he 
added,  "  That  is  a  thing  that  must  be  used  by 
stouter  hands  than  yours,  Rosa ;  I  fear  that  I 
am  the  less  welcome  since  you  have  begun  to 
make  fisher's  nets."  Her  silence  seemed  to 
anger  him,  and  he  said  more  fiercely,  "  It  is  not 
that  I  have  been  absent  in  great  enterprises, 
that  has  changed  you,  Rosa,  but  that  you  wish 
me  absent  always,  for  some  other's:  sake." 

Rosa  lifted  her  head,  and  turned  upon  him  a 
look  of  unspeakable  scorn. 

Alessandro  was  half  ashamed.  "I  did  but 
jest,"  he  said  ;  "  I  know  you,  Rosa,  too  well  to 
be  jealous  of  any  fisherman  in  the  lagoon 
But  tell  me,  girl,  for  whom  is  it  that  you  work  1" 

"  ForPierotto.  He  is  an  old  man  that  serves 
me  much  ;  would  I  could  reward  him  better." 

"You  shall;  surely  you  have  not  wanted 
gold,  Rosa  1  I  have  sent  it  you  as  I  was  wont." 

"  I  have  not  wanted  gold,  Alessandro." 

"  But  you  have  not  had  enough.  You  shall 
have  more. — You  know  that  you  shall  have  as 
much  as  you  desire." 

"I  desire  no  more  than  I  have." 

Alessandro  seemed  daunted  hy  her  short 
answers;  and  for  some  time  he  said  nothing. 
The  darkness  of  the  night  grew  less  thick,  and 
he  started  to  go.  He  gave  Rosa  renewed  in- 
structions for  her  mission  to  Teresa,  urging  her 
to  dwell  on  the  happiness  which  the  couple 
might  at  once  reach,  if  Sebastian  would  join 
with  those  who  offered  him  their  alliance.  He 
would  have  embraced  her,  but  she  gave  him  her 
hand  to  kiss.  Smiling  at  her  humor,  he  yielded, 
and  presently  she  closed  the  door  on  his  de- 
parting form. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


From  the  time  of  tho  attack  on  Aluise  dalle 
Fornasi's  vessel,  Doria  had  been  collecting  a 
strong  fleet  at  Zara,  numbering  some  fifty  fight- 
ing-ships, and  hundreds  of  lighter  craft,  with 
victual  and  troops.  With  this  force  he  an- 
chored off  Chiozza,  on  the  Gth  of  August,  1378  ; 
at  the  same  time  that  Carrara  descended  the 
Fiume  Vecchio  with  a  hundred  ganzaruole  and 
a  large  land  force.  Their  .approach  was  known 
in  Venice  ;  hut  Pietro  Emo  was  well  fortified 
in  the  town  ;  and  it  was  thought  safer  to  inter- 
cept all  alarming  rumors.  Chiozza,  like  the 
younger  city,  on  which  it  is  dependent,  was 


built  on  little  islets,  and  partly  on  piles,  within 
the  entrance  to  the  lagoon  between  the  island 
of  Brondolo  and  the  littorale  of  Pelestrina.  A 
long  embankment,  severed  by  a  drawbridge, 
connected  it  with  the  island  ;  on  which  Doria 
landed  his  forces,  in  three  divisions,  under 
Gerardo  da  Manteloro.  Their  numbers,  des- 
cried from  the  walls  of  Chiozza,  created  little 
alarm,  for  the  walls  were  strong.  Therefore 
the  army  which  Venice  already  had  assembled 
on  the  island  of  Malamocco  was  undisturbed  ; 
e.xcept  that  Marco  Morosini  insisted  upon  relin- 
quishing his  command,  and  sharing  the  perils 
which  thickened  round  Chiozza.  Emo  was 
cautious,  and  did  not  venture  far  from  the 
town  ;  wishing  to  render  Doria's  harmless  pos- 
session of  Brondolo  uneasy  by  keeping  up  a 
point  of  attack  from  the  town.  Gerardo  seem- 
ed scarcely  to  perceive  his  aim,  and  as  the 
weather-beaten  veteran  advanced  nearer  and 
nearer,  until  at  length,  with  hardly  any  resist- 
ance, he  seized  the  entrance  to  the  bridge  from 
Brondolo,  he  prided  himself  upon  his  victory, 
instead  of  fearing  the  danger  in  which  the 
Venetian  desired  to  trap  him.  A  day  he  wnz 
suffered  to  remain  in  quiet  possession.  In  the 
meantime,  Doria  advanced  ten  large  galleys  to 
the  side  nearer  to  Venice,  whence  he  opened 
upon  the  town  a  fire  from  the  arblasts  and  the 
rude  artillery  then  newly  invented.  The  peo- 
ple began  to  murmur,  and  to  say  that  the  three 
thousand  and  odd  fighting-men  in  the  place  had 
better  be  sent  to  their  homes  for  safety,  since 
they  were  afraid  to  face  the  enemy. 

So  stood  matters,  when,  on  the  night  of 
August  the  13th,  or  rather,  early  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  following  day,  a  party  of  men  were 
assembled  in  the  house  of  the  podesta.  The 
room  in  which  they  were  seated  was  larger 
than  many  even  in  Venice  itself;  but  its  fur- 
niture was  rough  and  simple,  as  befitted  a  hall 
open  to  men  engaged  in  the  toil  of  daily  com- 
bat, and  too  careless  of  comfort  to  disarm  or 
seek  the  couches  of  the  more  splendid  saloons 
in  the  ancient  palace.  The  grave  and  hardy 
podesta  was  seated  in  a  chair  at  the  head  of  a 
table,  but  turned  aside  to  give  more  ease  to 
his  crossed  legs.  His  bascinet  and  steel  gloves 
lay  beside  him;  the  rest  of  his  body  being 
cased  in  mail,  over  which  was  a  jupon  of  silk, 
reaching  to  the  hips,  and  richly  worked  with 
gold.  On  it  were  blazoned  his  arms — barred 
in  six  pieces,  of  argent  and  gules.  On  the 
table  were  the  remains  of  a  hasty  meal,  at 
which  some  dozen  persons  had  been  seated. 
A  few  still  remained  at  the  board.  Nicoletto 
Contarini  and  Giovanni  Mocenigo  had  with- 
drawn, and  sat  on  chairs  near  Emo,  dressed  in 
the  long  black  vests  which  they  had  not  ex- 
changed for  actual  war:  their  office  being  to 
watch  the  warriors  in  the  execution  of  their 
duty.  Baldo  Galluzzi,  the  captain  of  the  forces, 
still  sat  at  the  table,  his  wine-cup  by  his  side, 
and  his  bronzed  face  glowing  vvith  ruddy  health 
and  the  exhilaration  of  his  favorite  pastime— 
the  deadly  dance  of  war.  Three  others  stood 
apart.  The  tall  figure  of  Marco  Morosini, 
clothed  in  black  armor  of  the  plainest  kind, 
leaned  against  the  side  of  a  window,  open  to 
the  blackness  of  a  dark  and  gusty  night.  His 
arms  were  of  the  oldest  kind  in  use  :  his  basci- 
net had  no  visor,  the  mail  reached  even  to  the 


38 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


steel  gloves,  no  plate  showing  on  his  arm  ;  his 
surcoat  was  long,  blazoned  with  the  ancient 
arms  of  his  family — argent,  a  bent  azure — 
unadorned  wiJi  the  cross  that  some  of  his 
kindred  assumed  when  Fornasa  Morosini  wed- 
ded with  the  king  of  Hungary :  for  Marco 
deemed  that  all  augmentation  of  the  arms  of 
his  house  was  an  abasement,  as  confessing 
that  the  race  was  less  noble,  if  it  could  be 
made  more  so  by  mixture  with  others.  He 
bore  the  listless  look  of  a  man  who  is  waiting 
for  something  which  will  happen  too  soon  to 
leave  him  leisure  for  thought,  though  he  had 
nothing  to  do  meanwhile.  Malipiero  bent  his 
fiery  visage  to  the  ground,  hugging  with  folded 
arms  the  thought  that  in  the  approaching  fight 
he  could  make  amends  with  his  sword  for 
fierce  counsels  withheld  from  Venice  by  his 
oft-repented  submission  to  the  bargain  with 
Francesco  Carrara  for  his  life.  Watching 
both  was  Lionardo  Morosini ;  his  face  turned 
away,  but  his  piercing  eyes  often  glancing 
under  his  clustering  black  hair  at  his  uncon- 
scious cousin,  and  marking  the  excited  face  of 
Malipiero.  He,  too,  like  most  in  the  room, 
was  in  arms. 

"  This  wind,"  said  Galluzzi,  subduing  his 
potent  voice  almost  to  the  low  tone  in  which 
their  consultation  had  been  held,  "  will  serve 
our  turn  ;  for  it  will  keep  Doria  busy  while  we 
deal  with  his  friends  ashore." 

"  Aye,"  said  Emo  ;  "  and  the  dark  too.  Will 
Messer  Nicolo,  think  you,  have  his  men  ready 
in  time  V 

*•  Doubt  it  not.  If  you  hear  no  bustle,  it  is 
because  Nicolo  is  just  the  silent  man  we  need." 

Niccio  da  Gallicano  entered  as  he  spoke, 
and  addressing  both  the  captain  and  the  po- 
desta,  announced  that  all  was  prepared. 

Emo  desired  him  to  summon  the  prisoner 
whom  Messer  Lionardo  Morosini  had  taken 
two  days  before.  Lionardo  remained  behind 
until  all  the  rest  had  gathered  near  the  po- 
desta's  chair.  The  man  was  brought  in.  He 
was  a  bold  and  sturdy  fellow,  with  a  bluff, 
soldierly  bearing,  as  though  the  rough  life  of 
the  camp  had  broken  through  the  funning  that 
peered  from  his  eyes  ;  he  would  have  been  the 
secretest  of  inquisitors,  but,  being  a  soldier,  he 
had  grown  frank  and  careless.  The  man's 
mail  was  dented  and  broken,  and  his  dark  gray 
vest  was  soiled  like  that  of  one  wiio  had  not 
been  nice  in  his  sleeping  places  on  the  bare 
earth.  He  was  unbound,  and  had  no  look  of  a 
prisoner,  except  that  a  guard  brought  him  to 
the  door,  and  that  he  was  weaponless. 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  said  the  podesta  to  the 
man,  "the  cavalier  that  spared  your  life  yes- 
terday is  willing  to  take  service  by  way  of 
ransom,  and  you  say  that  you  can  lead  us  to 
your  captain's  sleeping-tent  1" 

"He  is  no  captain  of  mine  :  I  am  not  a  Ge- 
noese, though  I  am  a  Genoese  soldier." 

"  So  much  the  leas  care  need  you  have  in 
giving  him  up  to  us.     Can  you  do  it  1" 

"If you  can  take  him,"  answered  the  pris- 
oner, bluntly,  "  you  may,  and  I  will  show  you 
where.  But  I  cannot  give  him  to  you,  who 
have  him  not." 

"  But,"  said  Galluzzi,  turning  to  the  podesta, 
"  what  security  have  we  that  this  man  is 
honest V 


"  Nay,"  said  Emo,  in  a  lower  voice,  "  we 
know  him  not  to  be  honest,  but  a  kind  of  trai- 
tor. Let  us  not,  however,  disclose  our  coun- 
sels before  our  prisoner.  Messer  Lionardo 
said,  and  he  said  it  truly,  that  we  have  the 
gage  of  the  man's  own  life  or  this  much  of 
honesty,  that  while  we  hold  him  by  the  throat 
he  will  not  brave  death  by  angering  us." 

"  I  agree,"  cried  Marco  Morosini,  harshly, 
"with  Messer  Galluzzi:  let  us  rather  attack 
the  whole  of  them,  than  waste  our  time  in  a 
doubtful  chase.  Were  it  Doria  himself,  in- 
deed, it  would  be  different ;  but  who  is  Ge- 
rardo  da  Manteloro,  that  we  should  hunt  for 
him  V 

The  prisoner  started  at  the  sound  of  Moro- 
sini's  voice,  and  looked  at  him  uneasily.  The 
senator  also  looked  hard  at  him,  and  the  man's 
eyes  turned  aside,  while  his  color  fled.  There 
was  a  pause  ;  and  the  man's  harder  breathing 
was  visible  in  his  heaving  chest.  By  a  strong 
effort  he  w-as  calm  again.  "  I  will  not  believe," 
continued  Morosini,  "  that  the  man  is  honest." 

"I  thought  from  his  look  just  now,"'  said 
Mocenigo,  in  a  whisper,  "that  you  knew  him." 

"I,  Messer  Mocenigo  1  they  say  that  there 
are  traitors  in  Venice  ;  but  /  do  not  make 
friends  among  her  enemies." 

"  Nay,  nay,  Messer  Morosini,"  said  Emo, 
still  in  a  soft  voice,  "  it  also  seemed  so  to  me  ; 
at  least  I  thought  the  man  looked  as  if  he  knew 
you." 

"  The  cavalier,"  said  the  prisoner,  who  over- 
heard them,  "  struck  me  just  before  the  other 
threw  me  down  :  this  cut," — pointing  to  a  gap 
in  the  mail  on  his  shoulder,  "  was  made  by 
that  sword" — and  here  he  pointed  to  the  one 
on  which  Morosini  rested. 

"I  had  forgotten  it;  but  now  I  think  I  do 
mind  me  of  something  that  I  should  know  in 
that  face." 

The  prisoner  smiled,  and  added,  "I  rather 
should  remember  best." 

"  We  waste  time,"  said  Galluzzi.  "  If  my 
lord  the  podesta  and  the  proveditori  approve 
of  this  adventure,  there  is  nought  to  do  but  to 
obey ;  and  I  shall  not  strike  a  whit  the  softer, 
because  I  like  not  the  plan." 

"We  know  it,  Messer  Galluzzi.  Let  it  be 
so.  Honest  man,  keep  near  to  me;  and  when 
I  call  upon  you,  lead  us  on  the  way,  without  a 
word.     Silence,  for  your  own  life." 

He  called  ;  several  attendants  entered  the 
hall ;  and  with  their  help  Emo  and  his  friends 
laced  on  their  helmets.  Following  the  gui- 
dance of  the  governor,  they  passed  out  into 
the  street,  and  thence  to  the  gate  that  opened 
on  the  bridge.  As  they  neared  it,  an  occasional 
clash  of  iron,  and  that  half  heard  breathing 
which  tells  the  presence  of  men,  made  them 
know  that  the  large  body  of  soldiers  under  the 
command  of  Nicolo  di  Bernardo  were  posted 
there  ;  hut  the  silence  and  the  darkness,  foi 
not  a  light  was  allowed,  might  have  left  less 
practised  ears  to  fancy  that  there  was  solitude. 
Arriving  within  the  archway  of  the  gate,  Nicolo 
was  sent  to  the  top  of  the  gateway  to  see  that 
all  was  clear  without.  He  descended,  and  a 
whisper  satisfied  every  doubt.  With  as  much 
care,  however,  as  if  the  enemy  lay  with  his  car 
to  the  door,  a  little  postern  was  unbolicil,  and 
Emo  stepped  forth  with  the  Genoese.     (<  il 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


39 


Iir/.zi,  the  two  Morosini,  and  Malipiero  followed 
him  ;  and  advancing  a  few  paces  on  the  bridge, 
they  turned  round.  With  great  care  and  si- 
lence an  officer  stepped  forth,  and  then  the 
men,  one  by  one,  in  snaall  parlies,  each  headed 
by  an  officer,  until  a  hundred  stood  upon  the 
bridge  in  a  compact  band- across  it.  With  some 
anxiety,  Emo  bent  his  ear  over  the  bridge  ;  for 
a  boat  might  have  crept  near  in  the  darkness, 
and  might  escape  to  give  the  alarm.  No  sound 
leached  him  between  the  beat  and  roar  of  the 
wind,  save  the  beating  of  the  waters  as  they 
were  dashed  by  the  wind  through  the  bridge. 
The  body  of  soldiers  advanced;  and  that  guard 
l)hiced  in  front,  the  gates  behind  them  were 
opened  as  cautiously  as  the  postern  had  been  ; 
aiid  while  the  first  band  moved  on  steadily, 
four  other  bands,  each  of  equal  number,  followed 
at  short  intervals.  Their  pace  now  became 
more  rapid,  but  still  it  was  steady  and  noise- 
less— the  feet  of  the  men  being  bound  in  tow 
or  whatever  else  they  could  procure  to  deaden 
ilie  sound.  After  a  longer  interval,  another 
division  passed  along  the  bridge.  The  dawn 
!iad  already  bogun  ;  and  the  leaders  could  see 
the  tents  at  !he  other  end  of  the  bridge  ;  when 
the  dark  figure  of  a  man  who  was  walking  to 
and  fro  at  the  end,  suddenly  stopped  in  the 
midst.  A  loud  voice  cried,  "  Who  goes  there  ?" 
There  was  no  answer,  as  Emo  pressed  for- 
ward, those  behind  imitating  his  movements. 
The  sentinel  paused  for  an  instant ;  then  stoop- 
ing down  more  distinctly  to  catch  the  outline 
of  the  moving  mass  of  heads,  he  raised  a  trum- 
pet to  his  mouth  and  sent  forth  a  blast  so  sud- 
den, loud,  and  clear,  that  it  seemed  to  cleave 
the  night ;  for  just  at  that  instant  the  clouds 
burst  asunder.  Before  the  note  had  died  away, 
it  waked  a  hundred  echoes ;  and  while  the 
trumpets  still  blew  on,  there  was  a  stir,  a 
♦■lashing  of  arms,  a  shouting,  growing  and  mix- 
ing in  a  wild  uproar.  Ere  it  had  well  risen  to  its 
height,  Emo  and  his  band  were  on  the  drowsy 
guard,  and  few  escaped  to  answer  for  their 
fault.  The  sleepers  beyond,  startled  from  their 
beds,  hastily  snatched  up  what  arms  they  might, 
and  blindly  fought  without  aim  or  care,  or  ran 
to  the  rear  to  arm  them  better.  "  Now,"  cried 
Emo,  to  the  Genoese  soldier  who  stood  by  him, 
"now  for  your  captain's  tent."  The  man  step- 
ping briskly  forward,  took  the  lead,  keeping 
rather  to  the  left ;  and  Emo  followed  him  at  a 
running  pace,  with  the  other  nobles  and  the 
lirst  hundred  men.  Their  guide,  seeming  to 
avoid  the  pHres  where  there  was  the  greatest 
sign  of  bustle,  led  them  past  two  buildings  of 
which  the  Genoese  had  possession,  to  the  out- 
skirts of  the  little  encampment,  and  then  seemed 
about  to  strike  into  the  country,  when  Emo 
stopped  him. 

"  You  told  us,  fellow,  that  you  would  show 
us  Messer  Gerardo's  tent ;  but  whither  do  you 
!ead  us  nowl" 

"To  his  tent,  my  lord  :  it  lies  just  beyond 
here  ;  in  another  camp  not  a  mile  on." 

"  How  is  this  !  we  meant  the  captain  of  this 
force  that  ln^s  here  at  the  bridge." 

The  man  looked  confused  for  an  instant,  and 
was  about  1  )  speak,  when  Mm'osini  exclaimed, 
"  There  is  Ir'^uchery  here  !  let  us  go  no  farther 
or  our  retui'j  will  be  cut  off." 

"  It  is  tri' ,"  said  Emo,  "  seize  the  fellow." 


"  My  lord,"  said  the  man,  sullenly,  "  I  am 
your  prisoner  already.  If  you  will  not  permit 
me  to  do  your  wish,  why  call  me  traitor  !" 

"  There  is  none  here  to  oppose  us,"  continued 
Morosini;  "yet  the  Genoe.-e  are  not  wont  to 
be  so  heedless  !" 

The  prisoner  looked  about  him,  as  if  seeking 
help. 

"Seize  him,"  said  Emo,  turning  lo  the  men 
behind  ;  "  he  is  going  to  escape." 

As  he  spoke,  Lionardo  Morosini  rushed  for- 
ward from  among  the  soldiers,  and  was  the 
first  to  grasp  the  man's  arm.  As  he  did  so,  he 
whispered  fiercely,  "  Fool !  run,  run  for  your 
life !"  A  short  struggle  released  the  prisoner 
from  his  hold — and  he  started  off  like  a  deer. 
But  his  hesitation  was  fatal  to  him.  Two  of 
the  men  had  got  the  start  of  him,  and  one 
tripped  him  up.  He  rose  with  the  dogged  look 
of  a  desperate  man;  and  yielding  to  his  fate, 
he  advanced  resignedly  towards  the  drawn 
swords  of  the  cavaliers. 

"  Bring  him  hither,"  cried  Emo  ;  "  we  must 
force  his  treachery  from  him.  Prick  him  with 
your  swords." 

"The  villain,"  cried  Lionardo  Morosini,  in  a 
loud  and  angry  voice,  "  owes  a  debt  to  me,  who 
have  spared  his  life.  Was  it  for  this,  rascal, 
that  I  delayed  your  death!"  And  he  stepped 
towards  the  prisoner,  who  regarded  him  with 
astonislunent. 

"Nay,"  exclaimed  the  man,  "if  it  be  so,  I 
will  confess  all." 

"  It  is  too  late."  And  Lionardo  raised  his 
sword. 

"Hold!  hold!"  cried  Emo  and  others,  "he 
will  tell  us  the  plot." 

The  prisoner  drew  back,  and  called  out, 
"  Stay,  Messer  Lionardo.  What !  will  you 
murder  me  !  Stop  him,  for  the  blessed  Mary's 
sake,  my  lords-^let  me  tell  "  Before  he  could 
be  prevented,  Lionardo,  saying  in  a  low  tone, 
"  Your  blood  be  upon  your  head  !"  plunged  his 
sword  into  the  man's  throat  above  the  gorget 
of  his  mail.  He  fell  choking  and  sobbing  with 
the  blood  that  poured  into  his  throat ;  and 
stretching  out  his  hands  wildly,  to  catch  some 
hold  as  he  felt  himself  drifting  away  from  life, 
he  tried  to  call  for  help.  He  ceased,  and  the 
blood  flowing  for  a  few  moments  in  a  silent 
flood,  stopped  as  it  froze  in  death.  Marco 
Morosini  who  bent  over  him  with  others,  knew 
the  features  as  they  sunk  to  moveless  repose, 
and  he  exclaimed,  "  Ha  !  I  know  the  traitor  ! — 
it  is  the  monk !  he  is  a  spy  !"'  The  cavaliers 
looked  at  him  with  surprise.  "  You  knew  him, 
then  ^"  said  Emo.  "  I  knew  him  for  a  traitor : 
no  more.  But  it  is  no  time  to  tarry  now. 
Li(mardo's  haste  has  left  us  to  learn  for  our- 
selves why  we  were  brought  hither." 

At  that  hint,  the  party  redoubled  their  speed 
back  towards  the  bridge.  On  their  way,  Emo 
whispered  to  Galluzzi — "  Let  some  of  youi 
trustiest  men  watch  Messer  Lionardo.  We 
must  take  him  back  again  to  Chiozza,  and 
doubtless  he  will  tell  us  how  this  strange  sol- 
dier knew  his  name,  and  why  he  stopped  the 
man's  tale." 

As  he  spoke,  they  approached  two  houses 
which  they  iiad  before  noted  as  being  so  still. 
They  had  barely  reached  them,  when  Marco 
Morosini,  pointing  to  a  wall  that  stretched  a 


40 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


little  way  from  one,  made  a  sign  for  the  band 
to  stop.  They  saw  above  the  wall  the  point 
of  a  lance.  It  stirred.  It  was  hastily  lowered. 
Galluzzi,  pulling  his  finger  to  his  lip,  waved 
his  sword  in  the  direction  of  the  lance,  and 
rush'jd  round  the  corner  followed  hard  by  his 
companions.  The  ambush  stationed  for  their 
surprise,  was  in  turn  surprised ;  and  a  sharp 
short  struggle,  hand  to  hand,  ended  in  tiie  flight 
of  the  Genoese  towards  the  bridge.  Not  Jar ; 
for  as  the  Venetians  opened  the  view  of  the 
bridge  itself,  they  found  a  more  numerous  body 
stationed  to  receive  them  ;  while  the  uproar 
and  dust  of  battle  marked  the  line  of  the  bridge 
for  a  long  distance  from  the  island. 

"Now,  sirs,"  cried  Emo,  grasping  his  sword 
more  tightly,  "  is  the  struggle  for  our  lives  and 
for  Chiozza.  Viva  San  Marco  I"  "Viva  San 
Marco!"  shouted  the  little  band  behind  him; 
and  in  a  minute  their  swords  were  crossed  with 
the  Genoese.  Their  compactness  and  the  fury 
of  their  assault  carried  them  into  the  midst  of 
the  press,  like  a  spear  head  into  solid  flesh. 
Now  Galluzzi  showed  that  power  which  had 
placed  him  at  the  head  of  the  army  in  Chiozza  : 
his  gay  and  thoughtless  face  had  grown  stern 
and  heavy  with  the  weight  of  purpose.  Put- 
ting himself  in  front,  his  ponderous  form  bore 
down  all  before  him  ;  and  his  big  arm  hacked 
and  hewed  down  the  steel-clad  men,  like  a 
woodman  clearing  away  the  saplings  and  under- 
wood that  stop  his  way  to  some  tall  trees  on 
which  his  real  force  is  to  be  spent.  Inspired 
by  a  holy  phrenzy  in  his  love  for  Venice,  Moro- 
sini  fought  with  reckless  valor ;  and  Emo  with 
the  single  purpose  of  making  good  his  path  to 
the  bridge.  The  men  pressed  forward  ;  the 
Genoese  before  them  yielded  inch  by  inch, 
when  their  young  captain,  Andrea  Fazio  fell 
cleft  to  the  chest  by  Galluzzi's  sword,  their 
power  was  unloosened,  and  the  Venetians  <ell 
upon  the  backs  of  their  fellows  who  were 
driving  the  close  mass  of  Venetians  towards 
Chiozza.  Tiie  shouting  behind  told  Gerardo 
da  Manteloro  of  his  new  assault ;  and  leaving 
the  van,  he  struggled  to  return  through  the 
packed  ranks  of  his  own  men.  He  met  Moro- 
sini,  driving  in  the  Genoese  to  their  own  de- 
struction, and  trampling  on  the  bodies  of  two 
of  the  many  already  sunk  down  upon  the 
bridge.  With  mad  fury,  Morosini  struck  at  the 
Genoese  chief,  his  blow  falling  full  upon  Ge- 
rardo's  sword,  which  shivered  into  pieces.  The 
stalwart  Genoese  rushed  within  Morosini's 
long  reach,  and  grasping  him  with  both  hands 
by  the  waist,  lifted  him  from  the  ground,  and 
turned  to  push  him  over  the  rail  into  the  water. 
Morosini  fell  with  the  small  of  his  back  on  the 
ridge ;  but  seizing  in  his  hand  the  vizor  of 
Gerardo's  bascinet,  he  dragged  back  his  head, 
60  that  he  lost  his  power.  While  they  strug- 
gled, friends  came  to  the  rescue  of  each.  Emo 
grasped  Morosini's  left  hand,  and  pulled  him 
from  the  water ;  while  a  Genoese  strove  to 
tear  Morosini's  right  hand  from  Gerardo's  head. 
The  press  around  them  became  hotter;  Vene- 
tians and  Genoese  still  seeking  lo  prevent  each 
other  from  slaying  the  entangled  warriors.  At 
'ength  the  two  once  more  stood  face  to  face 
upon  the  ground,  still  grasped  in  each  other's 
arms,  their  teeth  clenched,  their  breasts  heav- 
ing with  exhausted  breath.     As  the  Venetians 


on  the  one  side  slowly  gave  way  towards 
Chiozza,  and  on  the  other  pressed  forward  in 
the  same  direction,  the  knot  of  combatants 
round  the  two  was  carried  on  and  on,  until 
they  f=;lt  the  looser  wood  of  the  draw-bridge 
beneath  their  feet. 

Suddenly  a  smoke  aiose  from  the  very  ground 
and  a  glow  of  heat.  A  hundred  voices  shout- 
ed, "  the  bridge  is  on  fire,"  and  so  it  was. 
While  the  battle  waged  hottest,  and  men  for- 
got all  but  the  foe  before  them,  Giovanni  Sa- 
luzzo  had  brought  a  small  boat  under  the  bridge, 
and  with  a  torch  had  set  fire  to  the  woodwork 
near  the  water,  meaning  to  cut  off  the  retreat 
of  the  Venetians.  He  did  better  than  he  meant. 
The  two  wrestlers,  turning  their  astonished 
eyes  to  the  smoke,  released  each  other.  The 
Venetians  led  by  Galluzzi,  taking  advantage  of 
the  surprise,  gathered  up  their  strength  like 
fresh  men,  and  striking  right  and  left,  soon  ran 
in  among  their  friends.  Those,  alarmed  by 
the  smoking,  and  taking  the  speed  of  the  new 
comers  for  flight,  also  began  to  fly,  calling 
"fire  !  fire  !"  The  alarm  spread.  At  that  mo- 
ment a  cavalier  on  horseback  cantered  on  to 
the  bridge,  followed  by  a  force  of  untired  men. 
His  head  v/as  unarmed,  and  covered  only  wiih 
a  small  cap  ;  his  face  was  gay,  as  he  pointed 
onward  with  his  sword.  It  was  Carrara.  "For- 
ward Messer  Gerardo  ]"  he  cried,  "  In — in  i.> 
Chiozza,  while  the  way  is  open  !"  Geranlu 
needed  no  second  word.  Recovering  from  his 
surprise,  he  too  shouted.  "  Viva  San  Giorgio  ! 
— Chiozza  for  San  Giorgio  !"  The  Venetians 
were  followed  close  by  the  running  Genoese ; 
and  they  so  crowded  up  their  own  gates,  that 
they  could  not  be  closed.  Emo  turned  to  make 
a  stand  —  twenty  hands  seized  him  in  every 
part,  for  he  was  among  Genoese  alone  ;  and 
so  he  was  carried  to  the  rear.  Venetians, 
mi.xed  with  their  foes,  ran  along  the  street ; 
and  the  few  that  kept  round  Galluzzi,  on  reach- 
ing the  piazza,  found  themselves  surrounded 
by  Genoese  and  Carrara's  men,  who  poured 
into  the  town  like  locusts.  Resolving  to  die 
hard,  Galluzzi  stood  at  the  head  of  his  men  ; 
but  no  one  molested  them  ;  all  moving  past, 
taking  stations  here  and  there,  until  he  stood 
amid  a  wall  of  soldiers.  It  opened,  and  Car- 
rara rode  in.  Courteously  saluting  the  Vene- 
tian, he  cried,  "Messer  Galluzzi,  you  may  if 
it  please  you,  kill  some  more  Genoe-se  in  sell- 
ing your  own  life  ;  hut  you  cannot  save  Chi- 
ozza, which  is  ours  already."  And  he  pointed 
to  the  flags  which  waved  on  every  tower  and 
many  a  house  top.  "  Let  us  not  have  savage 
war  for  the  sake  of  blood,  after  victory  is  won 
by  no  fault  of  yours:  for  you  have  conquered 
to  day  in  valor — we  in  numbers." 

"Noble  sir,"  answered  Galluzzi,  "you  say 
true.  But  we  are  now  free,  and  mean  to  be 
so  while  we  live." 

"  Good  !  be  so  then  ;  for  we  will  not  spend 
our  men's  lives  in  taking  some  hundred  others, 
when  we  have  won  a  whole  tuwn.  You  may 
depart." 

"  And  may  I  seek  my  wounded  friends?  I 
fear  me  that  Ser  Pietro  Emo  is  among  the 
wounded  or  slain,  and  that  the  Morosini  have 
fallen  somewliere." 

"  The  podesta  is  our  prisoner  and  guest ;  and 
so  is  Messer  Lionai  do  Morosini ;  I  hf^pc  that 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


4i 


Messer  Marco  still  lives  :  I  shall  thank  you  to 
aid  in  searching  him." 

Galluzzi  stepped  forward  and  held  forth  his 
sword,  saying,  "  It  shall  be  given  to  one  only." 
Carrara  toolv  it,  and  instantly  returned  it  : 
■•'Keep  your  sword,  sir,"  said  he,  "we  have 
plenty  of  our  own  ;  and  when  you  again  use 
one,  you  will  strike  less  cruelly  with  that 
which  you  take  from  my  hands."  Turning  to 
some  of  his  followe'rs,  he  added, — "  Conduct 
these  men  to  the  sho^e ;  and  guard  Messer 
Galluzzi,  while  he  seeks  his  friends." 

He  was  obeyed  ;  and  Galluzzi  retraced  his 
steps  towards  the  gate.  As  he  drew  nearer  to 
it,  he  saw  the  man  he  sought,  slowly  rising 
from  the  ground,  amongst  heaps  of  bodies, 
which  lay  with  their  faces  from  the  gate,  hav- 
ing been  struck  down  in  flight :  Morosini's  own 
face  was  towards  it,  and  he  was  stiff  with  the 
wounds  from  which  he  had  fainted. 

"  Ah,  Messer  Morosini,"  cried  Galluzzi,  "  I 
grieve  to  see  you  so.  Help  me  to  raise  him, 
some  of  you." 

"Is  the  town  still  ours,  Galluzzi  1"  asked 
the  wounded  man. 

"  Alas,  no  :  it  is  held  by  the  Carrara." 

"  Carrara !  I  had  rather  it  had  been  Doria  ; 
and  rather  have  died  than  hear  either.  But 
how  comes  it  then,  that  you  are  here  and  at 
liberty  1" 

"  It  is  ttie  generous  courtesy  of  Carrara  ; 
who  leaves  me  free,  and  the  small  troop  that 
stood  firm  with  me,  to  leave  the  town,  and  to 
bear  you  with  us." 

"Under  no  pledge  to  remain  disarmed  pri- 
soners in  Venice,  to  be  laughed  at  by  our  fel- 
low citizens  1" 

"  Under  no  pledge  at  all,"  said  Galluzzi,  smi- 
ling at  the  helpless  man's  nice  valor.  "  Let 
us  bear  yoa  to  the  boats." 

"  Morosini  hesitated  ;  but  growing  still  paler, 
his  faintness  made  him  fall  back  in  the  arms  of 
his  friend  ;  and  they  .carried  him  tenderly  to 
the  shore. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

L.VTE  next  day,  the  hall  in  which  we  found 
Emo  and  his  companions,  was  occupied  by  a 
very  different  group.  At  the  table,  moved  to 
one  end  of  the  hall,  were  seated  the  two  lead- 
ers of  the  armies,  Doria  and  Carrara  ;  and  as 
they  conversed  in  a  low  tone,  their  officers  and 
a  host  of  cavaliers  who  stood  around,  mostly 
armed,  except  their  heads  and  hands,  con- 
hned  their  voices  to  a  whisper  ;  which  ceased 
when  Doria  cried,  "  Bring  in  the  Venetian 
Ambassador." 

Piciro  Justiniani,  the  procuratore,  was  ush- 
ered in,  accompanied  by  Nicolo  Morosini  his 
brother  procuratore,  Nicolo  di  Bernardo,  and 
some  score  of  attendants  led  among  them  seven 
Genoese  gentlemen,  prisoners,  who  with  a  few 
others  had  been  carried  off"  by  the  Venetians 
before  they  were  driven  back  on  the  bridge. 
Justiniani,  a  grave  and  dignified  man,  seemed 
to  steady  his  troubled  eye  with  an  cff'ort.  Ap- 
proaching the  table,  as  his  companions  stopped 
behind,  the  two  leaders  courteously  returned 
bis  salute, 


"  My  lords,"  he  began,  "  I  come  the  bearer 
of  a  message  from  Venice,  who  neither  denies 
the  wound  which  yesterday  inflicted  on  her, 
nor  forgets  that  she  has  still  strength  to  resist 
a  foe  ;  there  it  is  thought  that  her  valiant  con- 
querors in  that  one  battle  may  rather  forego 
their  full  desires,  to  obtain  some  part  at  once, 
and  without  farther  battle,  than  desire  still  to 
waste  their  blood  in  our  waters.  The  more 
especially  is  it  thought  so,  in  that  Venice  and 
Genoa  are  sisters  of  one  race,  one  country, 
and  one  faith  !  blessed  be  the  virgin  !  and  there 
is  in  this  wide  world  room  not  only  for  bolli,- 
but  battles  to  be  fought  in  which  they  may 
share  with  a  common  interest." 

"  Say  on,  Sir  Ambassador,"  said  Carrara  ; 
"  we  listen." 

"  Know  then,"  said  the  procuratore,  "that 
the  signory  are  willing  in  this  hour  of  difficulty 
to  offer  what  Venice  never  yet  ofllDred.  They 
believe,  noble  prince  and  most  excellent  lord, 
that  the  victory  which  you  have  had  must  con- 
tent you,  no  less  Christian,  than  noble  and 
valiant,  and  that  you  are  willing  to  use  it  with 
moderation  befitting  your  high  fame.  In  peace 
leagued  with  Venice,  Carrara  and  Genoa  would 
each  double  their  power,  and  while  the  most 
excellent  prince  would  strengthen  himself  on 
this  our  fair  land  of  Italy,  and  be  independent 
of  aid  from  distant  and  strange  regions,  the 
ships  of  Genoa  and  Venice  might  help  each 
other  in  the  conquest  of  new  lands,  for  their 
trade  and  glory  ;  so  that  a  league  of  such 
might,  of  such  magnificence,  should  never  yet 
have  been  since  the  tramontane  hordes  ravaged 
the  whole  land,  and  drove  into  the  lagoon  of 
Venice  those  fugitives  who  have  raised  it  into 
its  present  estate  and  dignity.  No,  Messer 
Carrara,  if  you  used  Genoa  and  Venice,  not  to 
waste  their  strength  on  each  other,  but  to  aid 
you  in  loving  fellowship,  the  honorable  ambi- 
tion which  has  made  you  in  your  single  person 
equal  to  the  most  powerful  princes,  more  pow- 
erful this  day  than  the  great  republic — woull 
reach  to  things  more  worthy  of  it  than  the  de- 
struction of  one  ally  by  another ;  that  other 
perchance  getting  its  death  wound  in  the  strug- 
gle. See  what  trust  the  signory  puts  in  your 
noble  honor,  Messer  Franceso ;  you  are  the 
only  sovereign  present  —  the  signory  is  not 
here — the  doge  of  Genoa  is  not  here  ;  but  only 
Messer  Doria  and  I,  servants  of  the  two  repub- 
lics ;  to  you,  therefore,  Venice  submits  her  de- 
sires, consulting  as  you  please  with  the  great 
commander  that  sits  with  you.  My  lord,  here 
is  the  bond  of  Venice,  for  you  to  subscribe." 

Justiniani  drew  a  roll  of  parchment  from  his 
bosom  ;  and  stepping  up  to  the  table,  he  un- 
folded it,  and  laid  it  before  Carrara.  The  Lord 
of  Padua  started,  and  his  deep  eye  gleamed 
with  triumph.     Tlie  parchment  was  blank. 

The  procuratore  continued.  "One  word 
more.  In  token  that  Venice  desires  no  un- 
generous bargain,  hut  only  her  freedom  and 
your  friendship,  she  sends  you  by  me  the  high- 
est present  that  she  could  devise — seven  illus- 
trious gentleman  of  Genoa,  whose  valor  lei! 
them  too  far  into  our  ranks,  and  betrayed  them 
into  honorable  bondage."  And  he  pointed  to 
the  prisoners,  as  he  drew  back  a  few  steps, 
and  awaited  a  reply. 

The  two  chiefs  conferred  logolhcr,    Carrar'* 


43 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


seeming  earnestly  to  press  upon  the  Genoese 
something  to  which  he  hstened  coldly,  and  with 
dislike  ;  until  gradually  Doria  became  the  ear- 
nest speaker,  and  the  Paduan  sunk  back  in 
his  chair,  like  a  man  who  unwillingly  abandon- 
ed his  wish.  Justiniani  watched  the  converse, 
thinking  to  liimself  how  the  fate  of  Venice 
hung  upon  their  words.  Losing  his  caution,  in 
his  heat,  the  Genoese  leader  cried,  "No;  let 
us  hold  what  we  have  firmly,  and  we  may 
step  on  to  take  all."  Then  rising  hastily  from 
his  seat,  and  speaking  rapidly  and  loudly,  he 
said  to  Justiniani,  "  By  the  faith  of  God,  Signori 
Veneziani,  never  shall  you  have  peace  from 
the  Lord  of  Padua,  nor  from  our  commonwealth, 
until  we  have  put  a  rein  upon  the  unbridled 
horses  of  your  St.  Mark.  When  we  have  bro- 
ken them  in,  we  will  be  at  peace.  That  is 
our  will.  These  my  brothers  and  countrymen, 
whom  you  have  brought  with  you,  I  do  not 
want  them  :  carry  them  back ;  for  in  a  few 
days  I  will  come  and  take  them  and  the  others 
out  of  prison." 

Justiniani  started,  with  an  angry  gesture; 
but  keeping  down  his  passion,  he  turned  to 
Garrara  :  "Is  that.  Lord  of  Padua,  your  an- 
swer to  Venice  ]  You,  I  think,  would  counsel 
otherwise." 

"  Sir  Ambassador,  I  have  none  other  to  give 
than  my  good  friend  hath  already  told  you." 

"Tiien,  my  lords,  this  is  all  that  I  have  to 
say  more  ;  make  your  best  speed  to  Venice,  if 
you  would  break  the  prison  of  your  friends  ;  for 
you  may  find  it  too  well  guarded — or,"  he  add- 
ed, in  a  lower  tone,  "you  may  find  it  no  longer 
a  prison  of  the  living,  but  a  tomb." 

"  Be  it  so,"  cried  Doria,  "  I  speak  as  I  would 
speak  were  I  myself  in  the  prison  ;  but  this  I 
answer,  that  if  we  find  it  a  tomb  we  will  light 
such  a  pyre  above  them  and  offer  such  a  sacri- 
fice, that  it  shall  be  more  glorious  to  lie  buried 
there  than  in  the  greatest  monument." 

Justiniani  eyed  the  threatener  for  an  instant, 
then,  recollecting  his  quality  of  ambassador,  he 
saluted  the  chiefs,  and  retired  with  his  train. 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

The  night  had  passed,  and  the  sun  was  high, 
when  Sebastian  landed  in  the  place  of  St. 
Mark,  from  one  of  the  eight  galleys  left  in  the 
arsenal  by  Justiniani,  which  his  exertions  had 
helped  to  put  in  complete  readiness.  A  band 
of  rowers  was  drawn  up  at  the  water-side,  and 
some  bowmen  ;  but  as  his  eye  glanced  at  their 
scanty  numbers,  and  at  the  galleys  behind  him, 
lie  blamed  the  carelessness  which  had  brought 
so  few  together.  Edward  met  him,  and  ex- 
claimed, "  You  have  come  too  soon  :  the  Vene- 
tians have  lost  their  spirit,  and  1  will  not  go  out 
against  the  Genoese."  He  spoke  aloud;  and 
one  of  the  men,  with  an  angry  flush,  cried  out, 
"  You  do  us  wrong,  Messer  Odoardo  :  Vene- 
tians have  not  lost  their  spirit ;  but  if  they 
serve  well,  they  are  paid  with  prison!" 

"I  spoke  not  of  you,  friend,  but  of  those  who 
have  not  come  as  you  have." 

"  Nay,  I  do  not  know  but  Iho.se  who  have 
staid  away  are  wiser." 

Sebastian  looked  from  one  to  another  with 


surprise,  then  saying  that  they  must  not  hear 
such  things,  he  walked  towards  the  palace 
with  Edward.  "What  does  this  mean?"  he 
asked. 

"  Some  say,"  answered  the  Englishman, 
"  that  it  is  treachery,  that  it  is  the  treachery 
which  lurks  in  the  city,  and  threatens  it  in 
every  corner;  but  I  believe  that  these  men 
have  a  grievance,  that  the  senate  has  not 
pleased  them  in  some  way.  But  see,  here 
comes  Marin  Barbarigo  to  take  the  command 
of  the  galleys.     Let  us  watch." 

Barbarigo  came  from  the  palace,  surrounded 
by  a  party  of  nobles  who  were  to  take  com- 
mand in  the  galleys,  vi'ith  which  he  was  to  re- 
inforce Tadeo  Justiniani.  Little  knew  the 
senate  what  leader  they  were  sending.  At  the 
head  of  the  steps  Barbarigo  stopped,  and  look- 
ing surprised  at  the  almost  empty  galleys,  he 
drew  back  and  said  to  one  near  him,  "  Let  the 
men  enter  first."  His  messenger  walked  to- 
wards the  assembled  mariners,  and  pointed  to 
the  galleys.  The  men  were  motionless.  He 
drew  nearer,  and  said  to  those  in  front,  "  Bestir 
ye,  friends,  Ser  Marino  waits  ;  you  ought  to 
have  been  at  your  posts  already  !"  They  mov- 
ed not.  After  a  moment's  dead  silence,  while 
Barbarigo  and  his  companions  looked  on  in 
angry  amaze,  the  men  shouted  with  the  burst 
of  one  deafening  voice — "  Vittor  Pisani." 

"Howl  What  is  thisl"  exclaimed  Barba- 
rigo, as  with  angry  face  he  went  up  to  them. 
His  projected  expedition  was  threatened  with 
failure.  "  Know  you  not,"  he  cried,  "  that  the 
senate  has  ordered  us  to  join  the  Justiniani 
without  delay  1" 

Another  pause — "  Vittor  Pisani,  Vittor  Pi- 
sani !"  shouted  the  men. 

"  Messer  Vittor  Pisani  is  unable  to  lead  you  : 
the  senate  has  commanded  me  to  guide  you  to 
Justiniani." 

"  Aye,"  cried  Zanni,  whom  we  saw  active  in 
the  riot  of  la  Gobba, — "  Aye,  to  Justiniani,  who 
let  in  the  Genoese." 

"  So,  there  is  rebellion,  is  there  ]  Here,  some 
of  you,"  said  Barbarigo,  turning  to  his  own 
attendants,  "  seize  this  fellow." 

Men  started  forward,  to  defend  their  spokes- 
man, but  Zanni  put  them  back.  "  Yes,  seize 
me  !  I  shall  do  as  well  for  a  prison  as  Pisani ; 
and  more  of  us  will  go  if  you  like — all.  What 
good  will  that  serve  1" 

With  instinctive  discretion,  Barbarigo's  at- 
tendants stopped  halfway,  and  looked  for  farther 
orders.  He  himself  was  silent,  his  eye  fixed 
stedfastly  at  the  men,  gaining  time  for  his  own 
thoughts.  The  shout  of  the  mariners  had  drawn 
to  them  all  the  stragglers  in  the  square,  who 
pushed  forward  from  behind  to  see  what  was 
the  matter,  while  many  ran  back  again  to  tell 
their  fellows.  The  outburst  of  feeling  had  not 
been  unexpected :  and  as  Barbarigo  glanced 
over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  he  saw  the  un- 
ceasing motion  of  heads  behind,  as  fresh 
crowds  poured  in  to  join  and  abet  the  mariners, 
while  there  was  a  perpetual  clash  and  jarring 
of  voices,  as  men  called  to  each  other  with  that 
fierce  hilarity  that  animates  a  multitude  when 
there  is  something  amiss,  and  the  basest  order 
feel  themselves  of  political  importance  witb 
the  highest. 
!      Barbarigo  made  another  appeal.     "  Is  this 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


43 


yoar  will,  Venetians,  that  the  Genoese  should 
sail  up  to  the  very  Rialto,  undefied  !  Have 
you  so  little  courage  left — so  little  love  for  your 
oity — so  little  for  yourselves,  for  your  wives, 
your  lovers,  and  your  children  1  Siiame,  shame  ! 
Let  us  begone,  and  show  the  Genoese  how 
Venetians  defend  their  city."  A  pause.  "You 
aie  silent:  is  tiiat  your  only  answer  1" 

"Vittor  Pisani,"  was  the  stunning  answer 
of  voices  such  as  grew  strong  in  battling  with 
the  winds ;  and  the  shout  was  repeated  in  a 
hundred  ectioes  ;  until  the  windows  of  the 
senate  shook,  while  tiie  place  resounded  with 
"  Vittor  Pisani ;"  more  and  more  crowds  run- 
ning into  the  open  space,  and  catching  up  the 
cry ;  so  that  it  spread  like  fire  about  the  city. 
Barbarigo  turned  back  to  his  companions,  and 
the  two  friends  at  the  same  moment  joined  the 
group.  Edward  advised  them  to  send  for  the 
doge.  Barbarigo  hesitated  ;  but  Sebastian  at 
once  hastened  to  the  palace.  The  men  stood 
still,  in  dogged  calmness,  watching  the  effect 
of  their  rebellion. 

Before  many  minutes  had  elapsed,  Sebastian 
returned,  and  said  a  few  words  to  Barbarigo ; 
who,  speaking  to  the  men,  desired  them  to 
follow  him  to  the  palace,  and  they  entered  the 
court ;  which  filled  till  more  could  not  come  in. 
As  they  marched,  the  red  robe  of  the  doge 
caught  their  eye,  issuing  forth  on  the  giant's 
stair ;  and  they  respectfully  stopped,  leaving 
an  open  space  between  th<  ir  front  rank  and 
the  stair  on  which  stood  the  prince. 

Raising  his  open  hand,  m  token  that  he 
addressed  them  all  generally,  he  said  in  a  loud 
voice, — "  They  tell  me,  my  friends,  that  you 
stay  vvhen  you  are  asked  to  go  forth  against 
the  enemies  of  our  city.  I  cannot  believe  that 
Venetians  are  chilled  by  fear,  or  that  they  have 
forgotten  their  love  for  the  Queen  of  the  Sea. 
Tell  me  what  it  is  jou  want." 

The  shout  arose  again — "  Vittor  Pisani." 

"Vittor  Pisani  is  not  our  commander,  but 
Messer  Tadeo  Justiniani.  Is  he  not  brave  and 
generous  1  Some  of  you  have  served  under 
him,  and  can  tell.  I  can  see  one, — there — 
Bcppo  da  Murano  ;  because  I  remember  that 
Messer  Justiniani  told  me  how  Beppo  had  torn 
him  from  the  grasp  of  two  soldiers  at  Pola." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Beppo;  "and  Justiniani  gave 
me  this  knife  for  it ;  and  I  have  not  sold  it  yet, 
nor  ever  shall."  And  his  rough  hand  held  up 
a  jewel-hilted  dagger. 

"  Will  not  Tadeo  Justiniani  serve  you  for  a 
leader  1  Has  he  not,  with  too  small  a  fleet, 
kept  back  the  Genoese  who  might  else  have 
taken  Venice  itself;  and  shall  we  shamefully 
hold  back  when  we  ought  to  bear  him  suc- 
courl" 

The  men  were  silent. 

"Answer  me  !" 

Zanni  stepped  forward,  and  with  rude  rever- 
ence, said — "  It  is  not,  monsignore,  that  we 
dislike  Justiniani  ;  but  Venice  cannot  be  fortu- 
nate while  her  best  leader  is  away,  and  the 
other  best  leader  is  punished  with  prison  for 
the  fault  of  the  teinpest.  There  are  few  of  us 
here  ;  and  we  came  out  because  you  and  the 
senate  ought  to  be  told  what  it  is  that  makes  so 
many  more  hide  themselves  like  cowards,  as 
one  noble  said  to-dny,— whicli  they  are  not. 
Let  it  be  said  that  Messer  Vittor  Pisani  is  to 


lead  us,  and  you  will  see  ten  willing  men  in 
place  of  everyone  of  these." 

"And  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Beppo,  pushing 
forward,  "that  I  have  persuaded  some  eight  or 
nine  here  from  Murano,  because  I  have  yet  tc 
earn  this  pretty  knife  that  Justiniani  gave  me 
of  his  bounty  ;  but  they  told  me  there,  that  the 
town  should  be  emptied  into  the  galleys,  if 
Pisani  were  to  lead  them." 

"  My  friends,'"  said  Contarini,  "  I  would  do 
your  will  before  it  was  uttered,  if  I  were  able  ; 
but  the  Ten—" 

"  Tell  the  Ten — tell  the  senate,"  cried  several 
of  the  mariners :  and  tliey  turned  round  to 
those  behind,  calling  "  Messer  lo  Doge  will  tell 
the  senate  lo  give  us  Vittor  Pisani !''  "  Vittor 
Pisani,  Vittor  Pisani,"  answered  the  multi- 
tude. 

The  aged  prince  gazed  at  the  animated  scene 
before  him  for  an  instant,  and  then  turning 
back,  he  retreated  to  the  palace.  The  band  of 
mariners  kept  together ;  while  the  multitude 
fell  into  little  knots  about  the  court  and  the 
square  outside  ;  children  running  about  between 
and  playing  at  shouting  for  the  favorite  leader  ; 
while  a  few  nobles  walked  the  space  before  the 
stair  and  loitered  at  the  entrance  above. 

"They  will  give  them  what  they  want,  if 
they  arc  wise,"  said  Edward  lo  his  friend,  "  if 
they  thwart  this  law  of  the  people,  they  will 
make  Venice  destroy  itself" 

"  And  all  might  have  been  otherwise,  if  Carlo 
Zeno  had  been  here  :  yet  you  are  kept  back, 
who  were  to  have  fetched  him  !  There  is  not  a 
man  in  Venice  that  would  have  refused  to  fol- 
low him." 

"True.  I  have  suspicions.  Nothing  that 
the  senate  does,  seems  done  in  time,  and  when 
It  is  first  talked  of  They  do  say  much  about 
treachery  in  Venice, — " 

"  And  not  too  much  ;  it  meets  one,  even  in 
one's  own  home." 

"  Sebastian  !  your  father — " 

"  No,  no,  Edward  ;  my  father  is  too  proud  a 
man  ever  to  be  a  traitor.  I  have  said  too 
much.  I  am  so  used  to  speak  to  you  as  myself, 
that  I  forgot  others  will  not  think  of  us  as  one. 
Forget  what  I  have  said." 

"  Forget  I  cannot.  I  understand  you,  and 
what  you  say  can  scarcely  increase  my  own 
suspicions.  I  will  be  silent,  but  be  you  guarded. 
It  is  the  worst  mischief  of  treachery,  that  even 
those  who  are  not  traitors,  yet  live  famdia* 
with  it,  are  after  accounted  criminal  when  u 
is  discovered.  Sebastian,  I  have  fought  in 
many  fields, — at  home,  the  debasement  of  many 
of  my  race  you  know — even  so  long  after  the 
Norman  seized  the  crown  of  England,  has 
made  us  objects  of  injury  and  suspicions :  I 
have,  hke  my  father,  lived  imich  abroad  to 
escape  indignity.  In  Italy  I  have  been  among 
those  who  have  crossed  their  treasons  more 
often  than  their  swords.  But  never — not  once, 
did  I  ever  listen  to  a  traitor  ;  never  did  I  prom- 
ise to  keep  secret  aught  that  it  was  not  hones* 
to  know.  What  has  become  of  it !  I  might 
have  filled  my  chest  with  wealth,  and  perhaps, 
have  been  found  a  bloody  corpse  in  the  Arno 
or  these  lagoons  ;  or  I  might  have  been  a  hun. 
ted  alien,  driven  from  every  house.  But  I  can 
say,  that  no  man  is  safer  than  I  am  to  be  where 
he  lists  :  and  that  be  it  in  Venice,  in  Florence, 


44 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


or  in  Milan,  or  in  Westminster,  people  suffer 
me  to  pass  unsuspected.  I  am  older  than  you, 
and  bred  perhaps  among  those  whose  suffering 
made  them  covet  the  solace  which  the  poorest 
may  have  in  an  honest  life,  which  state  and 
intrigues  somew  hat  mar  ;  and  I  do  believe  that 
an  unsuspected  honor  is  the  greatest  power 
that  a  man  can  have,  even  among  traitors." 

"  I  do  believe  you.  I  see  it  in  you, — I  see  it 
in  Zeno  ;  and  I  feel  it" — Sebastian  stopped  and 
blushed  a  little.  Edward  smiled  and  said, 
"Where  all  lovers  feel  it.  But,"  he  added 
gravely,  "  that  is  an  idle  jest,  which  every  man 
can  say  to  others,  and  be  offended  if  they  say 
it  to  himself.  You  are  right,  Sebastian,  and  I 
offered  violence  to  my  own  wisdom  when  I 
jested  because  you  gave  it  its  best  sense." 

"Nay,  I  was  not  offended." 

"  I  know  you  were  not ;  and  that  it  was  that 
reminded  me  how  like  an  idle  gossip  I  was,  and 
how  different  were  you.  But  see,  here  comes 
the  doge  again." 

Contarini  again  came  forth,  and  raising  his 
voice,  cried,  "  Venetians,  the  senate  desires  to 
pleasure  you  in  tliese  times  of  our  common 
trouble  :  Messer  Vittor  Pisani  will  lead  you. 
He  is  free." 

Long  and  loud  was  the  shout  that  burst 
upwards  ;  a  solid  mass  of  sound,  in  which  the 
words  that  made  it — "Viva  Pisani,  Viva  Con- 
tarini," could  scarcely  be  heard.  As  the  doge 
again  retired  within  the  palace,  a  rush  was 
made  to  it,  and  habitual  respect  for  the  abode 
of  power  could  scarcely  restrain  the  people 
from  forcing  their  way  up  the  great  stairs. 
The  loud  buzz  of  voices  was  hushed.  A  man 
appeared  on  the  stairs  alone.  A  square  built 
man,  in  clothes  of  soberest  hue,  carelessly  put 
on.  He  wore  a  grave  and  thoughtful  counte- 
nance, like  one  who  could  bear  all  things  with 
equal  mind — triumph  to  the  full  as  well  as 
defeat.  He  came  slowly  and  steadily  down 
the  stairs,  but  at  the  first  glimpse  of  him,  the 
shouting  renewed  :  it  glanced  hither  and  thither 
in  the  multitude,  as  those  at  a  distance  in  the 
piazza  knew  what  it  was  those  in  front  saw  : 
others  filled  up  the  intervals,  until  at  last  the 
whole  city  seemed  shouting  in  chorus,  "  Vittor 
Pisani." 

Pisani  stopped  before  he  descended  the  last 
few  steps,  and  stretching  forward  his  hand, 
with  the  broad  palm  towards  the  people,  he 
hushed  the  storm  of  welcome.  As  it  died  away 
towards  the  skirts  of  the  multitude,  his  well- 
known  ample  voice  came  forth — "  Venetians, 
you  have  mistaken  :  the  only  cry  for  Venetians 
is — '  Viva  San  Marco  !'  " 

"Viva  San  Marco!"  answered  the  exulting 
people  ;  as  Pisani's  friends,  high  and  low,  has- 
tened towards  him,  struggled  for  his  hand,  and 
pressed  forward  for  a  word  or  look  in  salutation. 
"I  see,"  he  said,  smiling,  "that  I  am  still  a 
prisoner;  though  I  would  never  be  free  of  such 
bondage.  AVill  you  take  me  to  my  home,  sirs, 
that  I  may  prepare  me  for  my  enterprise  1" 

Those  about  him  formed  themselves  into  a 
kind  of  guard  ;  the  whole  people  joined  in  pro- 
cession, some  one,  as  they  did  so,  striking  up 
a  hymn  familiar  to  the  waters  of  Venice,  and 
the  people  changed  their  shouts  for  the  sacred 
song.  'J'hus  was  Vittor  Pisani  escorted  to  his 
bouse  al  San  Fanti.no. 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 

As  Sebastian  and  his  friend  woie  about  to 
follow  in  Pisani's  train,  one  plucked  him  by  the 
sleeve.  He  looked  back,  and  knew  an  atten- 
dant of  the  doge,  a  grave  and  aged  man,  who 
had  served  Contarini  nearly  all  his  life,  and 
now  served  him  not  as  prince  but  master.  He 
gave  Sebastian  a  letter,  saying  that  the  doge 
wished  him  to  man  one  of  the  galleys  rn  the 
instant,  to  bear  that  letter  to  Justiniani,  ana  to 
wail  with  the  commander  until  Pisani  should 
arrive,  and  the  doge  would  then  give  farther 
orders.  Turning  to  the  Englishman  the  mes 
senger  desired  him  also  to  be  ready  to  set  out 
that  night  on  the  voyage  he  knew  of;  and  then 
the  man  left  them. 

Sebastian  turned  pale.  "  Little  did  I  think," 
he  said,  "that  I  should  dislike  any  service 
that  Contarini  would  appoint ;  but  it  is  so  sud- 
den." 

"  Nor  should  you  this,"  said  his  friend,  "  sud- 
den as  it  is.  .The  same  fate  that  has  prepared 
for  you  this  sudden  absence,  and  which  has  pre- 
pared for  you  the  reasons  why  you  dread  it,  will 
also  prepare  for  you  a  return." 

"  True  enough,"  said  Sebastian,  as  they 
walked  to  the  water's  edge  ;  "  yet  I  would  have 
foregone  a  little  glory  for  one  hour's  delay.  Ed- 
ward, you  have  still  a  little  time  and  you  must 
be  my  messenger."  And  he  begged  his  friend 
to  see  Teresa,  and  explain  his  sudden  depar- 
ture; and  to  give  Turnbull  a  new  charge  to  be 
stedfast  to  his  post.  His  sister  also  was  to  be 
told  the  reason  of  his  sudden  absence.  They 
found  a  galley  ready  manned  by  the  now  willing 
sailors,  eager  to  bear  to  the  outer  shore  the 
tidings  of  Pisani's  release;  and  in  a  few  mi- 
nutes Edward  was  watching  the  vessel  as  it 
glided  swiltly  away. 

He  turned  to  obey  his  friend's  first  injunction, 
and  in  a  short  time  he  knocked  at  the  door  ol 
Jacopo  Arduino's  house.  The  door  was  cau- 
tiously opened,  and  the  massive  forin  of  Turn- 
bull  blocked  up  the  opening.  "Ah,  Master  Ed- 
ward," he  cried,  "is  it  youl  Truly,  it  is  a 
comfort  to  see  an  English  face  again." 

"  Well,  let  me  enter,  good  Turnbull,  ana  joa 
shall  see  my  face  more  at  ease." 

"Nay,  nay,  Master  Edward,  I  have  no  order 
for  that.  I  am  put  here  to  keep  folk  out,  not 
to  let  them  in." 

"  Good  ;  but  you  are  not  ordered  to  keep  me 
out1" 

"  All,  Master  Edward,  all ;  and  there  was  no 
account  taken  of  you  :  they  said  not,  keep  out 
all  save  Master  Edward." 

"  Nay,  good  Turnbull,  you  know  me,  and  you 
know  that  Signor  Sebastian  would  not  shut  me 
out.  Why  I  brought  you  to  him  ;  and  you  know 
me  I  hope  for  an  honest  gentleman." 

"  Aye,  and  I  will  make  it  good  against  all  that 
gainsay  it :  but  so  you  know  me  for  an  honest 
man.  Master  Edward,  and  true  to  my  word  ; 
and  I  have  said  that  7io)ic  shall  come  in." 

Although  vexed  at  his  awkward  plight,  Ed- 
ward could  not  foibear  laughing  at  the  un- 
timely fidelity  of  the  guard.  Presently  he  be- 
thought to  ask  the  soldier  whether  he  would 
take  the  orders  of  the  lady  Teresa?  The  man 
consented,  and  shut  the  door  for  a  time.  It  was 
then  opened,  and  the  smiling  Turnbull  admitted 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


45 


his  countryman,  closed  the  door,  and  ushered 
him  to  the  room  where  Teresa  usually  sat. 

She  ruse  as  he  entered,  and  advanced  to 
meet  him.  Though  he  had  put  more  faith  in 
Sebastian's  account  of  her  than  he  would  in 
any  other  lover's  description  of  his  mistress,  he 
was  little  prepared  for  what  he  saw.  Since  Se- 
bastian first  met  her,  the  diminished  pressure 
of  poverty  and  anxiety  had  shown  itself  in  her 
form :  her  face  was  not  so  thin  ;  her  color  not 
so  pale  but  a  delicate  tint  signified  the  place 
where  the  rose  of  her  cheek  would  bloom  in  a 
more  propitious  season.  The  almost  despon- 
dcHcy,  which  pained  while  it  melted  Sebas- 
tian's heart,  had  given  way  to  a  more  content- 
ed calm.  But  departing  grief  had  left  all  the 
dignity  and  self-possession  which  surprised 
Edward  in  one  so  humble  and  so  little  proud, 
imtil  he  knew  how  her  nature  had  trained  itself 
As  one  of  a  disinherited  nation,  he  cared  little 
for  the  dignities  which  were  lost  to  so  many  of 
his  race,  and  to  the  highborn  dames  of  Venice 
was  wont  to  show  no  more  courtesy  than  be- 
came a  man  to  all  women  ;  but  as  Teresa  ad- 
vanced towards  him,  in  all  the  unconscious 
dignity  of  vanquished  trouble,  he  felt  a  respect 
which  had  never  before  possessed  him,  and 
bowing  low,  he  kissed  the  hand  she  held  out  to 
him  with  more  reverence  than  a  courtier  some 
great  prince's.  "  Dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  I  fear 
that  I  am  an  unwelcome  visitor,  where  another 
was  expected ;  but  the  seeing  you  seems  to  give 
life  and  presence  to  all  that  I  have  heard  and 
known  for  some  time  ;  and  where  you  had  one, 
you  now  have  two  faithful  servants." 

Teresa  held  for  an  instant  the  hand  that  had 
taken  hers,  and  pressing  it  gently,  she  an- 
swered, "  Never  could  you  be  unwelcome,  Mes- 
ser  Odoardo.  Rather  say,  that  to  see  you 
where  another  was  expected  is  some  solace. 
But  Sebastian  1 — these  strange  noises  in  the 
city  have  alarmed  me  1" 

"  There  is  nought  to  fear ;  only  that  Sebas- 
tian is  hastily  sent  to  a  distance, — so  hastily 
that  he  could  not  even  stay  to  tell  of  his  de- 
parture, and  take  his  leave.  I  believe  he  would 
not  have  heeded  a  little  more  danger  to  himself, 
if  it  had  kept  him  in  Venice." 

"  In  Venice  !  has  he  then  left  the  city  1"  cried 
Teresa,  as  she  hurriedly  returned  to  her  chair, 
not  daring  to  trust  her  trembling  limbs. 

"He  has  gone  to  the  seashore  ;  but  only  as 
a  messenger.  Though  he  knows  nothing  cer- 
tainly, he  hopes  that  he  may  soon  return." 

"  The  Genoese  1 — " 

"The  Genoese  have  taken  Chiozza,  and  Se- 
bastian is  sent  to  Messer  I'addeo  Justiniani  to 
announce  the  coming  of  a  larger  force  under 
Vittor  Pisani." 

Teresa  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  It 
was  her  first  separation  since  she  had  loved  ; 
the  first  ;,ime  that  one  she  loved  so  well  had 
left  her  to  seek  danger  at  the  sword's  point. 
She  had  foreseen  the  time ;  she  had  thought 
herself  prepared  for  it.  She  had  even  once 
prepared  her.^elf  to  dismiss  Sebastian,  and  to 
be  ai^ain  in  the  world  with  no  stronger  protec- 
tion than  her  own  firm  mind.  But  since  that 
time  she  had  tasted  the  lu.xury  of  a  tranciuil 
reliance  on  more  powerful  defence.  Resting 
on  Sebastian's  n.anly  bosom,  she  had  some- 
what forgotten  the  uses  of  solitary  fortitude. 


The  blow  was  worse  than  she  had  feared  ;  but 
covering  her  eyes — looking  steadfastly  for  an 
instant  on  the  blank  which  his  chaste  endear- 
ments now  made  more  desolate — by  a  strong 
eifort  she  suppressed  the  chiU  shivering  that 
unbound  her  limbs  ;  when  she  uncovered  her 
face,  its  old  paleness  had  settled  there :  but 
her  eyes  were  dried  ;  and  if  her  brows  were 
slightly  contracted  in  an  upward  frown,  her 
lips  were  firm.  "  These  griefs,  Messer  Odoar- 
do," she  said,  "  are  the  price  we  have  to  pay 
for  happiness.  We  should  think  them  too 
great,  but  that  with  happiness  we  buy  two  other 
things — memory  and  hope." 

"E.xcellent  lady  !  Sebastian  told  me  true — " 
Edward  stopped. 

"  Sebastian  loves  you  too  well,  Messer  Odo- 
ardo, not  to  make  you  believe  that  all  about 
him  borrow  from  his  own  goodness.  He  has 
made  me  know  you  as  more  to  him  than  a 
brother,  and  that  is  why  I  speak  thus  freely 
to  you.  Tell  me,  what  is  his  danger,  and  when 
he  may  return  1" 

"  Would  I  could.  He  has  gone,  as  I  said,  a 
m.essenger  from  the  doge  to  Taddeo  Justini- 
ani, to  await  with  him  for  farther  orders  from 
the  prince.  Should  the  doge  think  fit,  he  may 
remain  with  Pisani." 

"UntiH— " 

"Until  any  time — to  the  end  of  the  war. 
But  that  is  not  likely.  As  he  went,  he  desired 
me  to  give  new  charge  to  your  guard  below, 
and  to  tell  you  why  he  came  not." 

"  It  is  like  him.  He  thinks  of  others,  who 
think  too  much  of  themselves.  Do  you  stay  in 
Venice  1" 

"  Alas  !  no  ;  or  Sebastian  would  less  have 
cared  for  it.  I  am  bound  on  another  errand, 
still  more  distant." 

"And  you  too!  Yet  how  little  should  I 
repine,  who  have  those  watching  for  me  while 
braving  such  trouble  and  danger." 

"Sweet  lady,  fear  not  that  Sebastian  will 
forget  what  he  leaves  in  Venice  ;  and  although 
he  may  not  leave  his  post,  he  will  more  than 
you  yourself  care  for  your  safety." 

"  I  know  it — I  know  it ;  and  let  him  not  hear 
that  I  am  troubled  at  his  absence." 

Edv<-ard  promised  her,  and  took  his  leave, 
with  fresh  assurances  that  Sebastian  would 
return  without  long  delay.  Nor  did  he  forget 
his  charge  to  Turnbull,  whom  he  found  verv 
weh  disposed  to  so  easy  a  garrison. 


CHAPTER  XXI 7. 

Edward  had  scarcely  departed,  when  ano- 
ther knock  summoned  Turnl)ull  to  the  door. 
He  opened,  and  before  him  stood  a  tall  woman, 
closely  vcil(!d.  She  at  once  stepped  forward 
t;)  enter,  pushing  back  the  hand  which  he 
opposed  to  her.  Had  it  been  a  score  of  men, 
they  would  have  found  some  diOieully  in  forcing 
an  entrance  ;  but  Turnl)ull  could  not  put  forth 
his  strength  against  a  woman  ;  and,  in  sooth, 
he  encountered  a  more  vigorous  push  than  he 
expected.  Having  made  good  her  entrance, 
the  woman'  motioned  him  to  shut  the  door,  and 
desired  him  to  guide  her  to  the  lady.  With 
many  signs  and  a  tew  unintelligible  words,  tho 


46 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


soldier  tried  to  make  her  understand  that  she 
could  not  be  admitted;  but  she  would  not 
depart.  At  length  the  veiled  visiter  made 
signs  that  he  should  crave  audience  for  her, 
and  again  he  repaired  to  Teresa.  He  returned, 
and  carefully  fastening  the  door,  he  beckoned 
the  woman  to  follow  him  to  his  mistress. 

Teresa  surveyed  the  unknown  form  before 
her  with  curiosity,  not  unmi.xed  with  something 
like  fear:  nor  when  the  man  had  retired,  and 
the  veil  was  slowly  unfolded,  did  she  know  the 
beautiful  but  severe  and  mournful  face  of  Rosa, 
fn  turn,  the  stranger  regarded  her  like  one  who 
is  comparing  a  picture  with  its  description, 
and  seeing  that  all  is  true.  As  she  looked, 
Rosa  seemed  to  take  heart ;  and  breaking 
silence,  she  said,  "  Pardon  me,  if  in  my  eager- 
ness to  speak  with  you  I  have  shown  so  little 
courtesy.  When  you  have  heard  me  you  will 
forgive." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  anything  to  for- 
give ;  I  must  rather  ask  pardon  of  you,  for  that 
my  defenceless  state  makes  me  slow  to  admit 
any  to  this  poor  house."' 

"  I  am  rude  at  answering,  as  such  kind  words 
should  be  answered,  and  must  rather  show  you 
that  I  would  serve  you,  than  strive  with  you 
in  compliments.  Do  you  know  Alessandro — 
Alessandro  Padovano,  he  is  called  1" 

Teresa  started,  and  turned  pale.  "You 
mean  the  foster  brother  of  Messer  Marco  Mo- 
rosinil" 

"  The  same.  He  it  was  that  sent  me  here. 
But  fear  nothing.  I  came  because  he  sent 
me.  I  will  tell  you  what  he  told  me  to 
tell  you  ;  but  I  will  tell  you  something  more. 
Promise  me  only  that  what  I  say  shall  be 
secret  to  us  two."  Teresa  hesitated.  Her 
companion  added,  "  It  concerns  the  safety  of 
more  than  yourself — why  should  I  not  say  it — 
it  touches  Messer  Sebastian  most  nearly." 
Still  seeing  Teresa  hesitate,  though  her  color 
changed,  Rosa  said — '•Well,  I  do  not  deserve 
that  you  should  make  bargains  with  me  :  I  will 
tell  you  all  that  you  should  know,  and  you  shall 
be  secret  in  mercy." 

"  You  are  too  good  for  me,"  answered  Ter- 
esa ;  "I  cannot,  though  I  would,  promise  to  be 
secret  before  I  know  what  must  be  concealed  ; 
but  rather,  though  you  speak  of  names  most 
dear  to  me,  let  it  be  unsaid  than  danger  befall 
you." 

"  The  worst  has  befallen  me.  Be  patient, 
then,  and  listen  to  me."  And  Rosa  repeated 
Alessandro's  discourse  faithfully,  dwelling  upon 
the  happiness  which  the  other  might  enjoy 
united  to  Sebastian,  a  great  and  powerful  man 
in  Venice,  with  all  the  high  inliuences  now 
arrayed  against  his  native  city  bent  to,  his  ser- 
vice. "Think,"  she  said,  "how  you  now  see 
your  lover  seldom — in  secret — in  danger  ;  how 
the  word  of  others  may  part  you,  as  it  has 
done,  for  ever;  how,  when  you  do  see  him, 
though  your  heart  melts  until  you  are  blinded 
with  love,  you  dare  not  give  it  way,  lest  he 
who  adores  should  scorn,  and  love  itself  turn 
from  its  excess  to  its  own  undoing  and  shame. 
And  think  how.  if  it  were  as  I  say,  you  would 
have  power  to  claim  him  in  the  face  of  Venice  ; 
how  none  should  part  you;  how  your  arms 
being  honored  by  clasping  him,  there  should  be 
DO  bounds  to  check  your  passion.     There  are 


times,  fair  lady,  when  women  can  command 
men,  if  those  minutes  are  but  seized.  Say  that 
it  shall  be — tell  him  that  it  shall  be  so,  and 
your  happiness  awaits  but  your  own  consent." 

Teresa  listened  with  her  face  looking  down  ; 
and  when  silence  awaited  her  answer,  she 
turned  her  eyes  on  Rosa,  saying,  "  I  scarce 
can  tell  what  power  I  may  offend  :  I  should 
grieve  to  displease  one  who  pleads  so  well,  but 
you  have  shown  me  yet  nothing  that  I  can  do  1" 

"Yet,  do  you  not  desire  the  union  I  spake  of!" 

"Why  do  you  ask  ]" 

"  Lady,  suspect  me  not.  Why  do  I  aski — 
aye,  indeed,  you  could  not  knew  that.  But  you 
cannot  fear  one  who  is  poor  and  friendless." 

"  Madonna,"  answered  Teresa,  "  I  do  not 
well  know  in  what  fashion  to  speak  to  you  ; 
from  your  bearing,  I  should  believe  you  a 
friend  ;  from  your  face,  I  could  swear  that  you 
mean  me  no  wrong — nothing  false  ;  but  you 
are  a  messenger  from  one  whom  I  have  learned 
to  believe  neither  true  nor  my  friend." 

Rosa  took  her  hand,  and  kissed  it.  "  I  will 
not  task  you  farther,"  she  said.  "  If  there  is 
risk  to  run,  let  it  be  to  me  and  those  who 
deserve  it.  But  tell  me  first — and  I  swear  to 
you  that  I  mean  you  nought  but  humble  service 
— tell  me,  to  content  my  mind — do  you  not 
love,  that  you  refuse  the  union  with  Messer 
Sebastian  r' 

"  I  do  not  refuse  it,  but  only  the  way  to  it. 
I  do  love." 

"Tell  me,  farther,  does  Sebastian  love  no 
lessl" 

"  I  believe  so." 

"And  he  too  refused."  said  Rosa,  musing. 
"  Strange,  that  love  should  be  so  true,  and  yet 
so  willing  to  be  denied." 

"  Is  it  strange,  that  love  should  be  true,  and 
yet  refuse  to  join  with  secrecy  and  falsehood? 
for  if  love  be  joined  to  falsehood,  it  soon  ceases 
to  be  true." 

"  And  thus  it  dies,  poisoning  itself  with  what 
it  takes  to  be  food."  There  was  a  pause,  and 
Rosa  seemed  lost  in  thought  ;  while  Teresa 
regarded  wit'i  sadness  the  sorrow  in  her  face. 
Suddenly  recollecting  herself,  she  spoke  in  a 
firmer  voice,  "  I  have  given  you  Alessandro's 
message,  and  now  let  me  speak  for  myself — 
obey  it  not.  Alessandro  would  sacrifice  ever)'- 
thing,  all  that  is  great  and  true  in  the  world,  to 
his  schemes.  He  it  was  that  told  me — me  ! — 
to  describe  to  you  the  happiness  of  successful 
love.  I  consented,  but  I  did  not  promise  to  tell 
you  no  more.  See  then — but  have  you  patience 
to  hear  a  long  story  1" 

"  I  will  hear  anything  that  you  wish  to  tell." 

"  See  then  if  I  have  not  cause  to  bid  yon 
beware  of  him.  Alessandro,  as  you  know, 
comes  from  Padua^  and  so  do  I.  His  mother 
gave  suck  to  Messer  Marco  Morosini,  while 
Alessandro  was  still  a  babe.  The  old  Morosini 
was  wont  often  to  visit  the  mother,  even  when 
he  was  aged,  and  Messer  Marco  came  very 
often.  When  Alessandro  grew  of  a  fit  stature, 
and  he  was  early  a  tall  and  strong  man,  Messer 
Marco  begged  of  his  father  that  his  foster 
brother  might  be  his  servant.  The  two  went 
to  the  wars  together,  and  all  that  Alessandro 
could  do  he  so  contrived  that  it  should  add  to 
the  fame  of  his  young  master.  It  is  said  that 
he  delighted  to  be  mistaken  for  Marco ;  and 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


47 


though  Marco  is  brave,  Alessandro  was  ever  j 
more  powrrful ;  ^o  that  many  an  achievement 
(lone  by  ilie  servant  was  told  of  the  master. 
Marco  was  proud,  Alessandro  taught  him  how 
to  be  discreet.  In  time,  the  servant  grew  to 
be  the  master,  and  Messer  Marco  would  not 
even  suffer  him  to  be  called  a  servant ;  so  that 
when  they  returned  to  Venice  after  long  sojourn 
in  other  lands,  the  contadina's  son  was  called 
Messer  Alessandro  da  Padova,  and  men  treated 
him  like  a  gentleman,  even  if  they  did  not  be-' 
lieve  him  to  be  such.  He  also  studied,  so  that 
he  is  very  learned,  almost  as  learned,  people 
say,  as  Messer  Petrarca.  He  used  to  come  to 
see  his  mother  often.  My  father's  vineyard 
was  next  to  his  mother's.  Her  husband  had 
died  years  before,  but  she  kept  the  vineyard, 
and  my  father  managed  it  for  her,  with  his 
own  ;  and  I  have  heard  him  say  that  she  paid 
him  well.  I  can  remember  Alessandro  when  I 
was  quite  a  child,  iiut  he  says  that  he  cannot 
remember  me — not  before  one  day.  Santa  Ma- 
ria !  how  I  was  terrified  that  day  !  Afterwards, 
I  thought  it  was  the  first  day  of  happiness,  the 
first  day  of  life  !  yet  now  it  terrifies  me  again, 
for  I  begin  to  think  that  I  do  not  understand 
what  has  happened  since,  and  the  end  is  dark 
to  me.  I  was  cutting  the  leaves  of  a  vine,  to 
let  the  sun  get  at  the  grapes,  and  Alessandro 
was  passing  by,  from  where  he  had  been  lying 
in  the  shade,  to  the  house.  He  stopped  to  look 
at  my  work — I  was  just  then  growing  to  be  a 
woman.  When  he  spoke  to  me,  I  left  off  work- 
ing. Did  you  ever  see  Alessandro  V 
"  I  am  not  sure  ;  I  believe  I  have." 
"  It  is  not  very  many  years  ago  ;  but  he  was 
then  still  a  young  man,  and  still  looked  young  : 
now  he  is  harsher  and  severer  ;  you  could  now 
scarcely  believe  that  he  could  speak  so  softly 
and  kindly  as  he  did  then.  I  was  then  very 
young,  and  only  a  simple  child.  I  do  not  know 
how  it  was,  but  while  we  were  talking  he  drew 
me  towards  him  and  kissed  me.  I  had  been 
kissed  before,  in  sport,  and  thought  no  shame 
of  it ;  but  at  that  kiss  my  heart  seemed  stifled. 
I  turned  from  him  in  fright,  and  ran  away.  But 
I  did  not  tell  any  one.  I  always  worked  at  cut- 
ting leaves  from  the  grapes  while  there  were 
any  to  be  cut,  and  Alessandro  used  to  watch 
me  at  my  work.  My  father — he  died ;  and 
another  man  came  to  work  for  Alessandro's 
mother.  But  she  said  that  she  would  not  leave 
me  alone,  and  she  took  me  to  live  with  her. 
When  I  asked  her  why  she  was  so  good  to  me, 
she  laughed.  I  believed  that  it  was  Alessan- 
dro's kindness,  and  I  loved  him  all  the  more  ; 
so  that  when  he  reproached  me  for  not  loving 
him,  it  made  me  very  sad — and  I  never  thwart- 
ed him  more.  I  loved  him  with  all  my  heart, 
and  I  thought  that  he  loved  so  too.  I  asked 
him  one  day  why  lie  did  not  wed  me,  as  others 
did  their  lovers  !  He  said  that  he  had  not  the 
power,  and  that  I  should  know  why  when  I  was 
older.  But  he  persuaded  me  to  come  to  Ve- 
nice, for  he  could  not  leave  it  so  often.  Not 
long  after,  his  mother  died;  and  he  said  that 
she  had  some  little  i)roperty  belonging  to  my 
father,  and  that  suffices  me  to  live  now  ;  though 
I  think  Alessandro  does  not  stop  to  count  my 
property  when  he  has  money  to  give  me ;  for 
he  was  ever  generous  in  such  matters.  After 
I  had  been  in  Venice  a  long  time,  I  asked  liim 


again  why  he  did  not  marry  me.  Can  ycm 
guess  why  !" 

Teresa  did  guess  ;  but  she  answered  not. 

"  It  was — that  he  might  wed  another.  Some 
one  powerful  and  rich.  Not  that  he  had  yet 
forgotten  to  love.  It  was  gradual.  While  I 
lived  only  in  him,  he  forgot  me.  He  wa.s 
silent,  thinking  of  greatness,  and  of  wars,  and 
of  sacrificing  love.  He  staid  away,  and  left  me 
to  think.  I  remembered,  that  while  I  had 
loved,  that  is,  all  the  while,  I  forget  everything 
but  Alessandro  ;  he  forgot  nothing  of  his  own 
pleasures — everything  else.  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  it  was  or  what  agonies  it  cost  me,  but  I 
seemeu  ^'^  'earn  to  understand  him.  I  thought 
that  ours  haa  been  love.  I  doubt  it  now — his 
— and — O  God  ! — I  even  doubt  my  own."  Rosa 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  bowed 
down,  swaying  to  and  fro,  as  if  in  an  agony  of 
pain.  Teresa  took  her  head  with  her  hands, 
and  laying  it  on  her  own  shoulder,  passed  her 
arm  round  her  companion.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments, she  recovered.  " I  thought  that  I  had 
learned  to  know  him.  He  came  again — he 
came  again  but  last  night ;  it  was  to  send  me 
hither!  I  had  seen  his  own  love  fade  and  turn 
to  something  monstrous — he  now  talked  of 
your  love  as  a  jest,  a  trifle  in  his  way,  and  he 
sent  me  to  destroy  it !  I  came  not  for  that.  I 
came  to  see  if  all,  like  him,  would  destroy 
themselves  for  power — or  if  there  were  love 
and  truth  abiding  in  the  world." 

"And  why  did  you  not  look  into  your  ov.-n 
heart  to  know  it,  poor  girl!" 

"  I  did — I  did  ;  but  it  was  only  one  ;  and  oh  ! 
if  I  were  mistaken.  But  I  know  it  now  ;  and 
though  I  am  more  certain  that  I  am  wretched, 
I  am  not  so  w'retched  as  I  was  :  and  I  am 
stronger  to  endure.  But,  dear  lady,  I  have  now 
told  all ;  had  I  mistrusted  you  I  might  have  done 
my  bidding  more  artfully.    I  am  at  your  mercy." 

"Fear  not — but  you  have  not  told  me  your 
name." 

'■Rosa  Bardossi." 

"  Fear  not,  Rosa ;  no  harm  shall  reach  you 
through  me." 

"  Nor  Alessandro  1" 

"  Nor  Alessandro.  But  do  you  return  within 
his  power  1" 

"  I  must  obey  my  fate." 

"  And  do  you  not  fear  him  I  ^^'hat  will  yoa 
say  of  your  enterprise  I" 

"  Notiiing  ;  I  shall  be  silent." 

"  But  you  will  anger  him.    Is  he  not  violent  V 

"I  do  not  fear  him.  He  has  already  don<' 
worse  than  kill  me.  And  besides,"  she  added, 
with  a  bitter  smile,  "  he  is  not  yet  so  wicked." 

"  And  what,  Rosa,  have  I  to  fear  from  him  V 

"  I  know  not.  I  think,  nothing  as  yet ;  I)ut 
I  will  know,  and  you  siiall  hear  if  any  dangf^r 
threaten.     You  will  let  me  see  you  again  V 

"And,  tell  me  again,  what  can  I  do  for  you, 
that  come  so  far  to  serve  me  ?" 

"  Nothing  either — unless — it  will  not  offend 
you  1  I  feel  to  love  you  so  that  I  cannot  tell 
it — will  you,  dear  lady,  let  me  kiss  that  kind 
mouth  1" 

Teresa  took  her  in  her  arms,  and  kis.sed  her 
many  times.  The  first  tears  for  a  long  time 
bedewed  Rosa's  eyes  as  she  drew  herself 
away,  and  folding  her  veil  around  her,  she  lefl 
Teresa  alone. 


48 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

It  was  night  before  Edward  set  out  on  his 
iccond  mission.  He  delayed,  partly  because 
he  did  not  wish  to  be  observed  entering  the 
palace  of  Morosini  in  the  absence  of  his  friend, 
partly  from  some  dislike  to  his  errand.  Wliile 
yet  he  was  a  child,  the  young  Saxon  had  been 
the  playmate  of  a  fair  girl  ;  who,  Norman  her- 
self, was  destined  for  a  Norman  lord  ;  and  when 
her  father,  noting  the  growing  earnestness  of 
Edward's  looks,  had  caused  him  to  be  shut  out 
from  the  accustomed  sport,  and  when  he  saw 
that  the  proud  little  beauty  smiled  joyously  as 
«he  passed  him  in  the  distance,  easi'y  waiving 
his  service,  he  conceived  a  new  natred  to  the 
land  where  his  race  was  humbled.  He  had  not 
yet  loved  ;  but  the  cutting  blow  prevented  his 
ever  loving  after;  and  though  he  had  found 
beauty  complying,  he  had  never  wooed  it  to 
relinquish  wealth  and  high  estate  for  his  sake. 
When  he  first  knew  Sebastian's  sister,  he  for- 
got his  armor  of  pride  ;  and  he  remembered  it 
too  late.  Yet  he  refused  to  yield  to  the  feel- 
ing that  had  stolen  upon  him.  Not  that  he  be- 
lieved Angiolina  cruel,  or  unfavorable  to  his 
suit,  had  he  made  it;  but  he  judged  that  it 
should  not  be  made.  Of  her  father's  enmity 
even  already  he  was  sure  ;  because  he  was  poor, 
because  he  was  the  friend  of  Zeno,  whom  Marco 
Morosini  deemed  a  sort  of  rival ;  and  most  of 
all,  because  he  was  not  of  Morosini's  own  train. 
Like  her  brother,  Angiolina,  frank,  unsuspect- 
ing, and  eager-hearted,  had  shown  the  English- 
man that  she  was  not  indifferent  to  him  ;  but 
he  had  seen  her  gentle,  and  what  was  more, 
her  spontaneous  submission  to  her  father  ;  he 
dared  not  woo  her  to  disobedience,  nor  one  so 
delicately  nurtured  to  a  rougher  and  more  un- 
certain life  ;  and  he  would  not  woo  to  be  again 
the  sport  of  a  filial  obedience  which  his  lowly 
station  could  not  distinguish  from  jiride.  An- 
giolina had  learned  to  like  the  Englishman  in 
her  brother's  description,  and  that  bearing  which 
gave  testimony  to  the  description  ;  while  she 
wondered,  and  almost  grieved,  at  that  strange 
constraint  which  she  thought  belonging  to  the 
coldness  of  his  northern  country.  Had  she 
been  older,  she  might  clearly  have  seen  that  he 
did  not  hate  her,  nor  have  attributed  his  dis- 
tant bearing  to  humble  timidity,  which  she 
pitied  and  tried  to  reassure  ;  ker  kindness  won- 
•JKMsiy  making  it  only  worse.  Now,  Edward 
had  never  yet  seen  her  in  grief;  he  had  not 
seen  her  since  Sebastian  left  his  father's  house  ; 
and  he  had,  in  a  manner,  to  play  the  part  of 
that  brother.  Conscious  of  his  own  conflicting 
thoughts,  he  fancied  that  he  should  be  suspected. 
As  he  drew  near  to  the  house,  however,  he  had 
cast  aside  all  tliese  doubts,  and  had  well-nigh 
persuaded  himself  that  they  were  all  of  them  no 
more  than  sickly  fancies ;  that  the  lady  was  as 
heedless  of  him  as  the  little  Norman  that  haunt- 
ed him  like  something  of  a  first  love  ;  and  that 
the  servants  would  let  him  pass  like  any  other 
messenger  from  their  young  master — beloved 
by  them  all  Strange  to  say,  he  not  only  found 
the  door  of  the  palace  open,  but  the  hall  seemed 
deserted.  He  walked  straight  to  tiie  saloon 
in  which  he  had  usually  found  Sebastian  and 
bis  sister.  Though  dark,  its  utter  stillness  told 
him  that  no  breathing  thing  was  il.ej-e.     At  the 


top  of  the  palace,  on  a  terrace,  wa.?  s  kittle 
space  filled  with  plants,  and  called  a  garden. 
Little  was  it  frequented ;  for  few  entered  Mar- 
co's solitary  palace,  except  on  state  days. 
Thither  Edward  repaired,  going  more  softly  as 
he  approached  the  door ;  lor  he  heard  voices. 
As  he  went  on,  however,  he  heard  footsteps 
also  behind  him  in  the  ante-room  that  led  to 
the  terrace;  and  not  wishing  to  be  seen,  he 
stepped  into  the  garden.  The  most  had  been 
made  of  the  little  space,  and  it  was  filled 
with  a  few  tall  thick  shrubs,  that  hid  the  talk- 
ers from  his  sight  ;  while  he  also  concealed 
himself  from  the  person  that  came  behind.  He 
had  scarcely  done  so,  ere  he  was  vexed  ;  for 
if  he  were  discovered,  some  color  would  be 
given  to  the  suspicions  that  he  feared  ;  whereas 
he  needed  not  to  hide  at  all.  The  person  that 
came  behind  him  partly  closed  the  door,  as  if 
he  had  come  on  purpose  to  do  so  ;  for  the  foot- 
steps retreated  again.  The  voices  that  had 
ceased  with  the  sound,  again  went  on.  One 
was  Angiolina's,  the  other  a  man's.  Moving 
cautiously,  so  as  to  see  them  through  the 
shrubs,  Edward  observed  the  lady  sitting  on  a 
seat  that  usually  stood  there.  By  her  side, 
with  one  arm  resting  on  a  tall  flower- pot  which 
was  raised  on  a  stand,  was  a  young  man.  He 
was  dressed  in  the  tight  vest  and  nether  gar- 
ments of  the  time  ;  a  tightly  buttoned  sleeve 
issuing  out  of  the  looser  sleeve  that  hung  from 
the  elbow.  The  cloak  which  he  had  worn  was 
thrown  across  one  end  of  the  seat.  As  he 
leaned  carelessly  against  the  flower-pot,  his 
head  supported  by  the  fingers  of  his  bent  hand, 
the  other  hand  resting  on  his  hip,  and  one  leg 
easily  thrown  across  that  which  sustained  his 
weight,  there  was  an  air  of  agile  strength  and 
grace  of  the  most  pleasing  kind  ;  and  yet  withal 
a  dash  of  hardihood  and  recklessness  little  to 
be  looked  for  in  a  lady's  suitor.  His  voice  it 
was  that  first  struck  Edward's  ear. 

"  I  had  thought  that  they  were  coming  to 
drive  me  hence  !  so  Angiolina — I  cannot  help 
calling  you  Angiolina,  as  if  you  were  not  cruel." 

'•  I  am  not  cruel,"  answered  the  girl,  with  a 
sweetness  and  kindness  that  never  before  dis- 
pleased the  hidden  listener.  "  Call  me  always 
Angiolina." 

"  I  do  Intend  to.  I  used  to  call  you  so  when 
we  played  together  at  Messer  Zeno's  house. 
You  have  chid  me  often;  and  especially  when  I 
kissed  you  ;  but  never  for  that ;  and  I  do  not 
think  you  have  yet  grown  so  cruel." 

Edward  listened  for  the  answer,  but  there 
was  none.  That  Angiolina  had  a  lover  he  had 
never  heard  a  hint,  and  to  find  one  so  familiar 
almost  passed  the  belief  of  his  senses." 

The  youth  continued.  "  It  all  comes  back  to 
me  again.  We  are  strange  creatures,  Angio- 
lina !  I  have  been  away  from  Venice.  I  have 
passed  long  dreary  months  beyond  her  waters. 
I  liave  been  in  camps  and  halls,  fighting  and 
revelling  ;  I  have  left  offthinkingof  you,  rather 
than  think  of  you  and  not  see  you  :  I  have  been 
as  heedless  and  sportive  as  any ;  but  now, 
when  I  come  back  to  this  quiet — hark !  you 
can  hear  the  water  ripple,  it  is  so  still — and  I 
can  hear  you  sigh,  carma — when  I  come  back 
here,  all  that  time  seems  like  a  dream  in  sleep, 
or  rather  death,  for  there  vi^as  nothing  living  in 
it.     When  that  is  gone,  and  one  thinks  of  iu  it 


THK  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


49 


'evivesno  more — there  is  Jiolhing  that  remains 
of  it ;  but  when  this  short  hour  is  gone — though 
I  have  been  so  still  that  my  arm  is  numbed 
with  not  moving  it," — and  he  did  move  it,  and 
sat  on  the  long  seat,  half  beside,  half  opposite 
his  companion,  "and  though  I  have  scarcely 
iieard  the  sound  of  your  voice,  yet  will  this 
hour  remain  to  me  a  living  thing  through  life. 
It  will  be  the  light  from  home  to  the  traveller 
that  has  set  out  on  the  long  winter's  journey, 
and  looks  at  what  he  has  left.  And  you  have 
sent  me  that  journey,  Angiolina  !" 

"  Francesco  I" 

"Aye,  and  you  pity  me!  But  that  only 
makes  it  worse.  I  do  not  know  but  what  it 
were  better  to  lie  down  here,  and  move  no 
uiore.  Or  bury  myself  here  under  your  orange 
tree.  I  could  do  it  in  a  night ;  and  so  be  food 
to  the  fruit,  and  creep  to  your  lips  that  way." 

Angioiina  had  hidden  her  face  with  her  hand. 
Francesco  took  the  other  ;  and  Edward  saw  that 
she  did  not  withdraw  it.  Suffocated,  he  wished 
now  to  leave  the  place,  hut  he  scarcely  dared 
move,  lest  the  noise  should  disclose  him  ;  and 
he  was  still  uncertain  whether  his  retreat  was 
free.     His  rival  went  ori. 

"  How  is  it,  Angiolina  dear,  that  you  are  so 
merciful  while  you  are  so  cruel]" 

"  How  can  I  resist  when  you  ta!k  so  sadly." 

"  But  how  can  you  be  so  cruel  too  V 

"I  am  not  cruel." 

"  You  do  not  love  me,  Angiolina." 

Edward's  life  seemed  to  hang  on  the  an- 
swer. 

"I  do." 

"  Then  why  deny  me  1  I  do  not  boast  my- 
self to  be  all  that  you  should  have  ;  but  if  you 
love  me,  what  can  be  said  morel  Your  father 
will  not  refuse  you  a  throne,  poor  as  it  may  be." 

"  A  throne  I"  thought  Edward. 

"  Nay  V  said  Angiolina,  "  I  love  you  not  for 
thrones,  Francesco  ;  and  I  want  none  of  them. 
It  is  cruel  of  you  to  say  that  I  do  not  love  you, 
and  to  speak  as  if  I  desired  your  life  to  be  un- 
happy. But — but — it  is  useless  to  say  more. 
\'ou  know  my  father  never  would  let  me  wed 
-in  enemy  of  Venice." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  if  the  enemy  of 
Venice  could  become  its  friend ;  make  all 
other  enemies  its  friends  ;  and  give  hitri  a  sove- 
reign for  a  son-in-law;  or  at  least  a  sove- 
eign's  heir.  I  fear  not  the  father:  what  would 
the  daughter  say,  if  the  father  consented!" 
No  answer.  "  Would  the  daughter  too  con- 
sentl"  Angiolina  shook  her  head.  Dropping 
her  hand,  the  youth  rose  from  his  seat,  walked 
a  few  paces,  and  resumed  his  station  by  the 
flower  pot.  "  And  yet  you  say  you  love  me, 
.\ngiolina,  as  well  as  when  we  used  to  meet — 
as  well  as  in  that  long  sojourn  with  Madonna 
Zeno  !" 

"As  well,  Francesco." 

"As  well — and  no  better  1" 

"  Why  should  I  love  you  better  !" 

"  Are  \vc  not  older  1  Do  not  I  love  you  oet- 
ter  1  I  once  ihoughl  indeed  that  you  did — when 
I  performed  that  hateful  oflice,  and  knelt  for 
my  father  before  the  doge  (Edward  now  knew 
that  it  was  the  son  of  Carrara  who  spoke,)  and 
when  I  looked  around,  I  saw  triumph  on  all 
faces — on  all  but  one  ;  and  there  a  sad  and 
pitying  mirror  of  the  shame  I  felt — my  mortal 
G 


suffering  mirrored  in  an  angel's  pity  That  de 
ceived  me,  Angiolina,  and  I  thought  you  loved 
me." 

"  And  so  I  did,  and  so  I  do.  It  is  because  1 
love  you,  Francesco,  that  I  tremble  for  your 
being  here,  while  all  Venice  cries  out  against 
your  house." 

"Aye,  with  horrible  stories  of  its  crimes — as 
if  Carrara  could  hire  men  to  poison  the  welh 
of  which  Zeno  drinks  ;  as  if  I  would  sutTer  him 
to  poison  your  fountains,  Angiolina  !  There 
are  traitors  that  borrow  my  father's  name, 
whenever  they  are  plotting  :  and  I  wish  I  could 
unstrip  them.  You  love  me  !  but  when  we 
say  love,  you  talk  of  one  thing,  I  another. 
What  hard  fate  is  it  that  makes  me  love  and 
not  be  loved !" 

"  Perhaps  it  is  Heaven,  that  will  not  let  me 
love  an  enemy  of  Venice." 

Francesco  sm.iled.  "  Are  you  too,  so  bitter ! 
But  is  there  no  other  reason,  Angiolina  ]  You 
do  not  answer  :  I  suppose  your  silence  means 
yes.  Could  I  guess  the  reason  1  Should  I  have 
been  more  lucky  had  I  been  born  a  Venetian  ! 
Ah,  I  see!  I  tis  a  Venetian  then."  The  girl 
again  shook  her  head.  '•  So,  then,  I  have  dis- 
covered your  secret,  Angiolina.  Nay,  hang  not 
your  head.  I  do  not  know  why — it  is  strange, 
but  I  feel  less  angered  to  think  that  I  am  not 
scorned  merely  for  your  coldness,  or  for  fear  ot 
your  father.  And  what- great  lord  offers  you  a 
higher  fortune  than  poor  Francesco  ]" 

"None,  Francesco." 

"  None  !  what,  is  it  then  some  wretch  as 
mean  as  I  am  1  But  I  will  not  torment  you. 
See,  I  am  not  so  cruel  as  you  are.  But  why 
not  tell  me  sooner  T' 

"  Because  I  had  nothing  to  tell." 
"Nothing!  you  are  a  riddle,  Angiolina, 
which  I  cannot  read.  But  I  must  be  gone  on 
the  winter  journey  I  spake  of;  and  with  the 
light  shut  against  me  too.  Would  1  had  said 
farewell  long  ago,  and  carried  away  a  longer 
deceit.  I  seized  a  few  more  moments,  and 
they  bear  this  fruit !  Well,  Angiolina,  I  was 
to  choose  one  of  two  lives — should  1  learn  to 
live  of  you,  or  of  my  father  !  You  have  left  me 
but  one  choice,  and  when  you  hear  of  Frances- 
co Carrara  busy  in  the  world,  among  wars  and 
profitless  plots,  say  to  yourself — I  inatle  him 
so;  and  blame  me  not."  He  put  his  cloak 
round  him  ;  and  putting  his  arms  through  the 
short  sleeves  in  its  sides,  took  both  her  hands 
as  she  rose  from  her  seat.  "  Farewell,  dearest!" 

"  Farewell,  Francesco, — Oh  !  if  you  did  but 
know" — she  leaned  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 
Francesco  pressou  her  to  his  bosom  ;  and  turn- 
ing her  face  round  with  gentle  violence  kissed 
her  on  the  mouth.  Then  carefully  placing  her 
on  the  garden  seat,  he  hastily  entered  the  house. 

During  tiie  scene  that  he  had  witnessed,  Ed- 
ward had  been  swayed  by  a  storm  of  passions, 
that  seemed  to  assail  him  from  all  sides;  a 
dangerous  despair  was  followed  by  a  siill  more 
dangerous  hope  ;  and  when  he  was  alone  with 
Angiolina,  the  memory  of  what  he  had  heard, 
seemed  to  render  her  sacred  against  his  ap- 
proach. But  night  darkened,  and  the  wind  be- 
gan to  rise  ;  reminding  him  of  his  enterprise, 
and  of  the  duty  to  Sebastian  which  he  must 
first  perform.  He  stepped  round  from  behind 
the  shrubs,  and  stood  before  Angiolina. 


50 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


She  started.  "  Back  again  !  Oh,  do  not  so 
tempt  danger." 

"  It  is  I,"  said  Edward  ;  "  your  servant  Odo- 
ardo.  with  a  message,  Lady  Angiolina,  from  your 
brother." 

"  Ah  heavens  !"  she  cried,  as  she  rose  from 
her  seat,  •'  what  strange  night  is  this  1  Tell 
me,  how  did  you  come  !" 

"Through  yon  door." 

"And  did  you  meet  any  onel" 

"  None." 

"  None  1  and  yet  you  came  but  now  !  Did 
you  not  say  that  you  came  but  now  1"  Edward 
was  silent.     "  You  do  not  answer  me  1" 

"  I  would  not  answer  you,  lest  I  should  of- 
fend." 

"  Offend,  Messer  Odoardo  !  but  say,  did  you 
enter  this  moment  ]" 

"  I  did  not :  I  have  been  here  many  moments  ; 
longer  than  I  would,  but  that  I  was,  as  it  were, 
a  prisoner." 

There  was  a  pause,  which  Angiolina  broke. 
"You  heard  then,  sir,  more  than  was  meant 
for  your  ears  ;  though  I  am  assured  that  it  will 
be  safe  with  you."  Edward  bowed.  "You 
said  that  you  had  a  message  from  my  brother  1" 

Edward  delivered  it ;  and  with  a  little  arti- 
fice, the  girl  did  not  hide  her  grief  at  her  broth- 
er's hasty  departure,  because  she  had  other 
feelings  wliicli  she  was  glad  to  hide  and  make 
pass  for  that. 

"And  you,  Messer  Odoardo — do  you  follow 
my  brother  1" 

"  No,  lady,  I  am  bound  on  a  more  distant 
journey,  and  must  say  farewell  for  myself" 

"  More  distant  !  Surely  you  do  not  leave 
Venice  ;"  and  Angiolina  again  sank  upon  her 
seat. 

"Only  to  return." 

"  And  for  how  long,"  asked  Angiolina,  in  a 
faint  voice,  "  shall  you  be  absent  1" 

"Not  for  long  ;  but  sea  voyages  are  uncer- 
tain. May  I  have  your  prayers  for  its  short- 
ness?" 

Angiolina  gave  him  her  hand.  "  I  seem  to 
be  losing  all  my  friends  at  once,"  she  said,  and 
he  could  guess  from  her  voice  that  she  was  try- 
ing to  srnile.  Her  hand  trembled,  and  when 
she  tried  to  withdraw  it,  and  found  that  he  still 
held  it,  she  still  left  it  in  his ;  and  it  trembled 
more.  She  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand. 
Edward,  carried  away  by  what  he  had  heard, — 
by  the  night — and  the  finding  of  himself  thus 
alone  with  one  who  appeared  to  rebuke  his 
pride  with  a  generous  tenderness, — could  not 
speak,  but  stooping  down,  covered  that  tremb- 
ling hand  with  kisses  ;  then  pressing  it  to  his 
eyes,  he  held  it  so  for  some  instants.  A  gen- 
tle voice  whispered — "  Messer  Odoardo — Odo- 
ardo— leave  me  !" 

"  Leave  you  !"'  cried  Edward,  all  his  resolves 
vanished  :  "  Yes,  Angiolina,  when  I  have  told 
you  all  that  this  bosom  has  striven  with  ;  when 
I  have  made  Sebastian's  sister  know  how  the 
love  for  her  brother  dares  reach  herself — dares 
to  forget  its  own  lowliness — even  her  fortunes 
which  it  mars  by  crossing — and  to  make  the 
wretch  it  sways  injure  that  which  he  loves,  be- 
cause he  loves."  And  Edward  told  the  trem- 
bling girl  all  that  he  had  suffered  from  his  own 
pride  ;  his  doubts  of  her  favor  ;  all  that  he  had 
felt  Uhile  hidden  among  the  shrubs  ;  his  doubt 


even — but  by  this  time  his  arm  was  round  her 
waist — of  her  own  courage  to  brave  the  preca- 
rious fortunes  of  so  powerless  a  lover.  Be  was 
not  repulsed.  Though  he  could  boast  no  child- 
ish plays  together;  though  lie — Angiolina  felt 
it — was  even  less  likely  to  obtain  her  father's 
favor,  than  the  powerful  enemy  of  Venice  ;  she 
leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  talked  of 
his  love  for  her  brother,  and  of  her  brother's 
love  for  him,  as  if  to  excuse  her  own.  Long 
would  Edward — how  changed  from  what  ha 
was  when  he  entered  the  palace, — have  remain- 
ed thus ;  but  he  did  not  forget  his  dangerous 
enterprise.  Had  young  Francesco  Carrara  wit- 
nessed that  farewell  which  happened  so  sooe 
after  his  own,  he  would  have  been  less  patieni 
than  Edward  had  been  ;  for  the  first  kiss  which 
he  took  on  those  ripe  lips,  gently  but  hastily 
yielded,  was  worth  all  that  Francesco  had  evei 
had,  and  he  would  have  given  them  all  for  it. 

Re-entering  the  house,  Edward  proceeded 
slowly  along  the  ante-room,  towards  the  down- 
ward stairs.  A  lamp  in  one  of  the  rooms,  shed 
an  uncertain  light  across  the  broad  hall.  Just 
as  he  entered  it,  the  figure  of  a  man  appeared 
before  him.  By  the  size  and  gait  he  knew  that 
it  must  be  the  foster  brother.  As  he  stopped, 
uncertain  what  to  say,  Alessandro  whispered 
in  a  harsh  quick  voice.  "  Fool  I  fool !  know 
me  not.  If  the  servants  see  you,  I  must  seize 
you,  Francesco.  Pass  on,  boy,  pass  on.  I 
thought  you  had  gone  long  ago."  Edward 
obeyed,  for  the  moment  rejoiced  to  be  so  mis- 
taken :  but  as  he  again  issued  into  the  open  air, 
he  was  ill  pleased  to  find  the  house  in  charge 
of  a  traitor — a  delected  traitor  to  Venice,  and 
a  double  traitor  to  Angiolina :  both  as  a  Vene- 
tian and  as  her  foster  uncle. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

Ed\v.\rd  had  tarried  so  long,  that  he  half 
feared  lest  his  absence  should  have  been  ob- 
served ;  and  he  was  pleased  when  he  reached 
the  great  square  to  find  an  attendant  of  the 
doge  who  had  just  been  sent  to  seek  him. 
He  repaired  to  the  prince's  apartment,  to 
which  he  was  at  once  admitted.  The  newly 
released  prisoner,  Pisani,  was  taking  leave 
and  his  last  instructions.  His  captivity  was 
still  marked  in  the  settled  sternness,  almost 
gloominess,  of  his  face  ;  and  his  plain  and 
sober  deportment  did  not  cover  the  pride  of  in- 
jured desert.  In  addressing  him  the  courteous 
Contarini  seemed  half-abashed,  as  though,  but 
for  his  station,  he  would  have  humbled  himself 
before  the  ill-used  prisoner.  But,  a  true  Vene- 
tian, he  would  not,  by  doing  penance  for  the  re- 
public, admit  her  to  be  wrong.  Desiring  Pisani 
to  exert  all  his  art  and  strength  to  confine  the 
Genoese  to  the  points  already  gained,  and  to 
make  even  their  hold  of  Chiozza  uneasy,  he 
dismissed  the  commander;  whose  arrival  among 
his  men  was  announced  by  the  shouting  out- 
side. 

Contarini  turned  to  the  Englishman.  "  Wen, 
Messer  Cdoardo,  if  your  stout  heart  is  still 
with  us,  Venice  desires  your  services." 

"  They  are  her's,  my  lord." 

"  To-night  1" 

"  This  instant." 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


51 


"  It  is  well.  The  senate  have  long  deter- 
mined, as  you  know,  to  send  for  Messer  Carlo 
Zeno,  whose  skill  has  often  driven  from  Venice 
dangers  almost  as  great.  The  task  will  be 
difficult,  as  the  Genoese  possess  the  sea  ;  and 
therefore  we  must  give  it  to  some  one  who  is 
as  bold  a  man  as  can  be,  and  withal  discreet. 
Messer  Odoardo,  when  our  Sebastian  advised 
me  to  send  for  Zeno,  he  advised  also  that  you 
should  be  the  messenger  ;  the  senate  consent- 
ed, and  the  signory  thinks  that  the  time  has 
now  come.  We  believe  Messer  Carlo  to  be  at 
Tenedos,  which  he  has  acquired  for  Venice  ; 
and  you  will  sail  straight  thither  with  all  the 
speed  you  may  ;  bringing  back  the  Zeno  in  your 
own  galley.  That  there  may  appear  no  putting 
away  of  Venetian  authority,  a  noble  gentleman 
will  go  with  you — your  friend  Messer  Luigi 
Morosini.  Tiie  galley  is  ready,  and  Messer 
Luigi  awaits  you." 

"  I  will  depart  at  once,  then.  The  night  is 
dark,  and  the  approach  of  Messer  Pisani  will 
draw  the  Genoese  to  Chiozza." 

"  Do  so,  take  the  fleetest  calley  ia  the  arse- 
nal, and  what  rowers  oi  bowmen  you  will.'' 

"  There  is  a  galley  that  belongs  to  Messer 
Pietro  Caresino.  It  is  not  of  the  largest,  but 
he  had  it  made  only  to  carry  goods  of  price  :  it 
is  two-masted,  and  there  is  none  so  fleet  in  the 
arsenal.  He  will  give  me  that.  And  for  men, 
we  shall  need  more  to  row,  than  to  fight." 

"Do  as  you  will." 

"  But  before  I  go,  my  lord,  let  me  crave  to 
say  to  you  one  thing,  and  saying  it  to  you,  to  be 
allowed  to  tell  no  more." 

"  I  will  buy  what  you  have  to  tell — which  is 
indeed  your  free  gift — by  promising  not  to  put 
you  to  the  torture,  Odoardo,  for  more,  before 
you  go  on  your  perilous  service." 

"  Do  you  know  the  man  they  call  Messer 
Alessandro  da  Padova  1  He  is  best  known  as 
the  foster  brother  of  Messer  Marco  Morosini." 

"  What  of  him]  Yes,  I  know  the  man.  I 
have  heard  of  him  often.  They  say,  indeed, 
that  he  sits  in  the  senate,  when  we  poor  fools 
fancy  we  see  Messer  Marco — that  Morosini's 
body  is  only  there,  but  Alessandro's  spirit." 

"  Would  Messer  Morosini  had  a  more  honest 
spirit  as  -ndeed  I  believe  he  has.  if  he  would 
only  use  his  own  mind  instead  of  his  foster 
brother's." 

"  No  one  speaks  well  of  that  man,  Odoardo. 
But  what  were  you  to  tell  me  1" 

"  This,  my  lord.  I  would  not  accuse  the 
man  to  those  who  would  harm  him,  because  it 
is  impossible  that  I  could  say  how  I  know  it,  or 
in  what  it  lies — but  I  know  him  to  be  a  traitor. 
Let  him  be  watched." 

"  Odoardo,  he  is  watched.  Everybody  sus- 
pects him,  everyoody  says  that  he  is  traitor; 
yet  he  is  the  most  faithful  of  Venetians,  for  all 
that  we  know.  Morosini,  his  servant  in  the 
senate — there  is  no  more  ardent  and  faithful 
man  for  Venice.  He  it  was  that  intreated  to 
command  the  works  at  the  ports." 

"  Aye,  and  Alessandro  commanded  in  his 
name." 

"  True.  Yet  no  treachery  of  the  man  is 
known." 

"To  me  it  is." 

"  And  you  cannot  tell  it  1  Is  it  impossible, 
Odoardo  '" 


"  Impossible,  my  lord  ;  I  must  die  first." 

"  Wiien  youtli  talks  of  dying  for  a  secret," 
said  the  venerable  prince  with  a  smile,  "  we 
always  suspect  some  sweet  secret  in  the  case." 

"  There  too,  my  lord,  I  must  ask  you  to 
forbear.  I  do  know  Alessandro  to  be  a  traitor 
— a  double  traitor ;  and  I  would  not  leave 
Venice  without  telling  you  to  let  him  be  watch- 
ed." 

"  It  shall  be  done ;  and  I  ask  no  more. 
Farewell :   be  your  return  speedy." 

Edward  took  his  leave,  and  went  forth  into 
the  place.  The  wide  place  was  filled ;  many 
torches  lighing  up  the  night,  and  showing  clear 
the  lofty  walls  of  the  palaces  and  the  bell- tower, 
which  reared  upward  into  the  darkness  above. 
Some  of  Pisani's  galleys  were  still  takmg  their 
departure,  and  exchanging  loud  farewells  with 
those  on  shore  ;  while  the  water  driven  by  the 
wind  and  beaten  by  the  oars,  danced  and  foam- 
ed in  a  thousand  shades  of  white  froth,  red 
torch-light,  and  black  shadows.  Here  was  a 
group  of  women,  giving  the  last  caresses  to  a 
vouple  of  mariners,  their  grief  blown  away  by 
the  storm  of  bustle  and  hurry.  Here  was  a 
young  noble  pointing  his  farewell  with  a  jest, 
the  more  bravely  to  set  off  his  chivalry.  Here 
again  a  sturdy  number  carried  on  board  the 
last  store  of  arms.  As  he  drew  near  the 
water's  edge,  the  broad  form  and  jovial  face  oi 
Luigi  il  Grasso  emerged  into  the  light,  with 
hands  held  out. 

"  Well,  foreigner,  here  am  I  waiting  like  a 
dutiful  commander  to  learn  the  pleasure  of  my 
lieutenant.  We  are  as  ready  to  see  you  as 
your  mistress  is,  boy;  and  all  right  to  go  on 
board.  I  did  not  forget  your  dress  of  gala, 
lest  you  should  need  to  go  a  courting  where  we 
shall  be,  you  know  ;  or  we  may  pick  up  some 
syren — very  fine  women  they  say,  and  very  se- 
ductive." 

"We  shall  need  little  holiday  clothes,  my 
friend.  But  you  are  as  careful  of  your  friends 
as  if  you  were  the  father  of  us  all." 

"And  so  I  am,  Sebastian — I  mean  Odoardo, 
default  of  a  better.  A  father  who  has  brave 
sons,  but  never  a  wife  to  prevent  his  sleeping, 
or  eating  in  peace  ;  and  that  is  the  reason  that 
sleep  and  food  do  me  so  much  good  ;"  stroking 
himself  complacently. 

"  Nay,  I  tiiink  it  is  charity  that  fattens  you  ; 
and  on  your  credit  I  shall  ever  say,  that  content 
and  kindness  are  your  only  physic." 

"  Boy,  hoy  !  you  never  flatter  the  great  and 
wise,  so  I  know  that  you  take  me  for  a  poor 
fooi.     But  let  us  go  aboard." 

••We  must  seek  our  galley  first;"  and  de- 
spatching Luigi  to  pick  out  a  full  number  of  the 
best  rowers  and  bowmen  in  the  city,  he  repaired 
to  ()eg  tiie  fleet  galley  of  Pietro  Caresino.  It 
was  soon  standing  with  its  stern  at  the  steps 
of  St.  Mark ;  and  the  men  led  by  II  Grasso 
walked  in.  Edward  surveyed  the  crowded 
vessel  from  the  poop :  and  then  sending  all  the 
rowers  to  the  front,  he  made  the  bowmen  stand 
before  him. 

"Who  among  you  can  work  at  the  oarl" 
he  asked  aloud  :  "let  such  go  to  the  left  here, 
and  the  others  stand  on  this  side."  Most  stood 
still,  either  unable  to  do  the  work  or  scorning 
it ;  others,  guessing  that  their  commander  had 
some  secret  motive,  moved  apart  as  he  direct- 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


ed  ;  about  a  score  or  more  claimed  to  ye  rowers 
aswell  asbowmcn.  "  Good  !"  he  cried.  "  Every 
bowman  tliat  rows  shall  have  a  rower's  pay, 
besides  his  own,  four  ducats  a  month  besides 
his  eight :  those  that  cannot  row,  or  like  it  not, 
may  go  on  shore,  for  we  have  too  little  room 
for  nice  workers.  To  the  shore."  And  as  lie 
pointed  with  his  finger,  the  discarded  bowmen 
walked  through  the  covered  poop,  and  regained 
the  piazzetta.  "Go  you  forward,"  said  Ed- 
ward, "and  let  rne  speak  witli  the  rowers." 
The  sturdy  mariners  gathered  behind  the  mast 
in  front  of  the  poop.  Are  there  any  among  you 
that  cannot  fight,  my  friends  1  If  so,  let  them 
go  on  shore  ;  I  say  fight,  and  I  mean  fight 
well."  None  stirred.  "  Good.  You  rowers 
while  you  are  out  with  me  shall  have  bow- 
men's pay — eight  ducats  instead  of  four.  Nay, 
shout  not.  Hush  !  we  must  learn  to  go  as 
quietly  as  we  may.  To  your  places,  and  let  us 
be  off.  Who  is  that — is  that  you,  Zanni  !"  he 
asked,  as  he  saw  the  man  that  helped  him  to 
appease  the  crowd,  when  he  rescued  La  Gobba. 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  such  as  you  on  board.  Keep 
your  fellows  from  tumbling  over  each  other 
in  their  hurry  ;  for  we  must  make  good  speed." 

In  short  time  all  was  disposed.  The  few 
bowmen  leaned  or  reclined  about  the  deck ; 
the  rowers  stood  to  their  posts  on  either  side, 
lost  in  the  gloom,  and  seeming  but  parts  of  tlie 
vessel.  Edward  fell  back,  leaving  the  com- 
mand to  Luigi ;  who,  wrapping  himself  tightly 
in  his  cloak,  to  keep  out  the  wind  that  raked 
the  deck,  issued  in  his  loud  bell-like  voice  the 
orders  to  man  the  oars.  A  few  seconds  more, 
and  the  galley  shot  from  the  quay,  swiftly 
driven  along  the  canal  of  St.  Mark.  They 
made  directly  for  the  port  of  Lido.  A  messen- 
ger had  already  been  sent,  and  the  watchword 
given  ;  they  stayed  for  some  lime  while  beams 
were  raised  and  ;  clanking  chains  that  barred 
the  entrance  to  the  lagoon  were  lowered.  The 
night  was  so  dark  that  they  could  barely  see  a 
single  figure  ;  except  when,  now  and  then,  a 
solitary  torch  shed  a  passing  glare  upon  some 
busy  number.  Two  lights  were  placed  upon 
the  works,  to  show  the  passage,  and  the  gal- 
ley went  forward  ;  until  at  length  it  left  the 
lights,  and  the  snatches  of  voice  which  broke 
through  the  wind,  and  stretched  into  the  outer 
darkness. 

"  This  north  wind,"  said  Edward,  "  blows 
the  favor  of  Heaven  upon  our  enterprise.  Its 
strength  will  beat  off  the  Genoese,  and  carry 
us  past  them  like  a  spirit." 

"  It  blows  lustily,  in  truth.  If  I  had  a  choice, 
I  should  say  that  I  should  choose  a  trifle  less, 
— ^just  a  breath  less." 

"Not  a  jot,  not  a  jot.  It  is  less  dangerous 
than  one  Genoese  ;  for  though  we  might  drive 
him  down,  we  might  lame  ourselves  in  doing  it. 
I  would  have  up  a  sail,  but  the  white  might  bo 
seen." 

"  A  sail  !  why  that  is  tempting  the  devil— St. 
Mark  help  us  ! — to  drag  us  down.  However, 
boy,  you  are  answerable  for  it  all,  and  I  will 
drown  with  you  as  cheerfully  as  any  man.  As 
for  the  seeing  it,  I  think  this  darkness  may 
console  the  only  fear  you  seem  to  know." 

"  Aye,  as  yet,  but  look  there."  Edward 
pointed  to  the  east,  where  already  the  gray 
dawn  had  encroached  upon  the  upward  sky. 


I  "  Well,  but  the  Genoese  are  between  us  and 
the  light.  If  they  are  abroad,  we  should  have 
the  dark  longest." 

"  True.  Forward  there  I  up  with  the  fore- 
sail." 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  galley,  as  if  the  mari- 
ners gathered  round  the  mast  farthest  from  the 
speakers.  But  no  sail  was  raised.  Edward 
shouted  again — "  What  stays  you,  boys  1  up 
with  it."  A  crumpled  dark  mass  danced  up 
the  mast,  and  gradually  spreading  abroad  like 
a  cloud  opening  itself,  it  bellied  before  the 
wind  :  the  white  canvass  scarcely  reflecting  the 
scanty  light.  Motioning  the  steersman  to  put 
the  galley  a  little  more  before  the  wind,  to  ease 
the  leeward  oars,  Edward  proceeded  to  the  side 
of  the  vessel,  to  see  the  effects  of  the  sail  upon 
her  speed  ;  while  the  passive  Luigi  walked  to 
the  mainmast,  and  leaned  against  it  to  ease  his 
legs,  and  catch  a  strip  of  shelter  from  the  wind. 
He  had  not  remained  long,  ere  Edward  called 
to  him.  He  joined  his  friend,  and  following 
the  direction  of  Edward's  finger,  he  saw  a 
heavy  mass  moving  along  the  water,  not  far 
out  of  their  track. 

"  It  is  a  Genoese,"  he  said,  in  an  undertone. 
"  Zanni,"  cried  Edward,  to  the  man  who  was 
near  him,  "  run  foward,  and  tell  them  to  keep 
the  silence  of  death.  Some  Genoese  are  near 
us  ;  but  we  will  fight  nothing  in  this  hour,  save 
time  and  the  weather." 

The  sturdy  sailor  obeyed  ;  while  the  friends 
watched  the  moving  mass.  It  went  steadily 
on  its  way.  "  They  do  not  see  us,"  whispered 
Edward.     "Whither  can  they  have  beenl" 

"  On  a  fool's  errand  ;  perhaps,  to  Tre  Port!, 
to  see  whether  they  could  not  enter  there  to 
take  possession  of  the  swamps  witliin." 

"Venice  must  thank  St.  Mark  for  this  dark- 
ness, which  shields  her  messenger.  Stay, 
there  is  another  :  perhaps  they  take  us  for  com 
panions  V 

"  Hardly,  on  this  course  ;  unless  they  think 
that  Messer  Capitano  is  drunk." 

"  Not  an  impossible  guess.  I  cannot  see  the 
first  one  now  ;  can  you  ]" 

"  Scarcely  the  second.     This  Zephyr — " 
"  Boreas,  you  mean." 

"  We!!,  it  is  Boreas, — carries  us  along  like  a 
dry  leaf  down  a  forest  path." 

"  That  shall  be  in  the  sonnet  you  shall  make, 
Luigi,  when  we  get  back.  We  are  very  like  a 
dried  leaf,  and  I  will  be  your  witness.  There, 
tiie  place  of  the  second  galley  can  only  be  guess- 
ed at  now.  They  are  well  passed,  and  my 
heart  heats  no  more." 

"  Your  heart  beat  I  Why  I  should  have 
thought  that  it  could  beat  at  nothing  if  this 
storm  could  leave  it  still." 

"  Storm,  Luigi !  why  you  should  know 
storms  too  well  to  call  this  one.  But  my  heart 
must  beat,  when  the  safety  of  Venice  depends 
upon  a  ray  of  dawn,  a  glance  of  a  stupid  sailor's 
eye,  or  a  turn  of  the  wind." 

"  You  are  more  Venetian  than  the  Venetians 
themselves,  Messer  Inglese !  And  see,  the 
storm  has  punished  you,  for  it  has  blown  your 
cap  away.  Aye,  it  is  gone,  Edward  :  you  are 
as  bad  as  a  Genoese  at  catching  what  was  be- 
fore tiie  wind." 

"  I  am  of  no  country,  Luigi ;  but  most  a  Ve. 
nelian  ;  for  in  Venice — " 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


ea 


"Aye,  in  Venice!"  chuckled  Luigi  as  he 
retun  ed  to  the  mast. 

For  some  lime  the  galley  pursued  its  way  in 
silence.  Near  the  bow  of  the  vessel  was  gather- 
ed a  knot  of  men,  some  few  rowers  whose  turn 
had  not  come,  and  who  spoke  in  hoarse  whis- 
pers, partly  because  of  the  order  for  silence, 
partly  because  they  were  half  ashamed  of  their 
discourse. 

"  You  talk,"  cried  one,  "  as  if  we  had  a  good 
and  true  Venetian  over  us  ;  but  this  gentleman, 
is  a  foreigner." 

"  Well,"  answered  our  friend  Zanni,  "  has 
not  Venice  been  well  and  faithfully  served  by 
foreigners  ;  and  does  not  Messer  Odoardo  do 
in  all  things  like  a  Venetian." 

"  No  ;  I  say,  no.  No  Venetian  would  have 
come  out  in  such  a  night  as  this.  He  would 
have  known  too  well." 

"  That  is  calling  the  Englishman  a  bolder 
man  than  the  Venetians." 

"Not  at  all — I  say,  he  would  have  known 
better.  But  it  is  not  the  coming  out  that  I 
complain  of;  it  is  the  setting  sails  in  such  a 
wind." 

"And  do  we  not  go  the  faster!" 

"  Aye — to  the  bottom,"  cried  a  third. 

"  And  if  it  were  to  the  bottom,  Pippo,  is  not 
an  Englishman  as  likely  to  love  life  as  well  as 
any  one  of  us,  and  will  not  the  Englishman  go 
with  us  !" 

"  I  do  not  think  he  can  love  life  at  all,  by  his 
deeds.  I  propose  that  we  should  say  we  will 
go  back.  I  said  so  before,  and  I  think  you  are 
mad  if  you  do  not  say  it  too.  You  say  it, 
Zanni  ;  for  you  know  him.  You  wish  to  see 
the  Sandraccia  again,  don't  you,  spouse  ;  and 
the  little  ones — four  or  five,  you  cannot  tell 
which  this  blessed  night." 

"  That's  true,  Pippo.  I  should  not  mind  go- 
ing back  ;  but  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  we 
are  afraid  ;  especially  to  yonder  Englishman, 
for  I  do  not  think  he  understands  what  this  is, 
to  be  afraid." 

"Well,  tell  it  then  to  Messer  Luigi  ;  he  is 
kind,  and  no  one  need  fear  him." 

"I  shall  say  you  send  me." 

"Aye,  say  we  send  you.  We  will  go  with 
you." 

They  walked  to  where  Luigi  stood  ;  but 
there  they  remained  silent,  their  spokesman 
lacking  courage  to  speak  out.  Luigi  saw  that 
they  had  not  approached  him  for  nothing  ;  and 
he  partly  guessed  their  errand.  "  Well,  friends, 
how  goes  it  with  you  I"  he  asked. 

"  Why,  Messer  Luigi,"  replied  Zanni,  "  it 
has  gone  better  in  other  times." 

"  How  so,  boys  ;  do  we  not  go  on  bravely!" 

"  Somewhat  too  bravely.  These  men  want 
to  go  back.     They  do  not  like  the  wind,  sir." 

"  .^nd  still  less,"  cried  Pippo,  "  this  hoisting 
of  sails  to  brave  the  punishment  ol'  our  sins, 
and  break  our  mast." 

"Eh!  eh!"  cried  Luigi,  with  a  good-hu- 
mored affi-'ctatioa  of  contempt,  "you  are  for- 
getting time,  friends,  and  think  yourselves  still 
little  frightened  children." 

"  I  told  you  so,"  exclaimed  Zanni,  turning  to 
his  companions. 

"Aye,"  said  Pippo,  pressing  forward  ;  "but 
Messer  Luigi  does  not  see  all  the  danger.  If 
(his  wind   were  against    us,  you  would  then 


know  how  the  waves  would  beat  over  the 
bow,  and  blind  us  with  spray." 

"  Oh  !  but  this  is  good  !  why,  here  is  a  fel- 
low afraid  of  what  is  not  I  Why,  man,  the 
wind  is  ?iot  against  us.  If  it  were,  indeed,  I 
might  say  that  you  have  reason  Besides,  see, 
boys — suppose  we  go  back  to  Venice  :  then  the 
weather  alters,  as  it  always  does  alter  ;  and 
then  we  set  out  again  directly,  but  having  to  go 
all  the  way  we  have  already  come." 

"  Why,  that  is  true,"  said  Zanni. 

"True!  it  is  only  sailor's  wisdom.  Let  us 
wait  here  for  good  weather.  And  while  we  do 
wait  in  open  sea,  you  know,  my  sons,  we  may 
as  well  be  going  on  ;  for  it  is  as  safe  ten  leagues 
forward  as  it  is  here." 

"That's  true  again." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Pippo  ;  "  but  we  need  not  have 
a  sail  to  bear  us  down." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  the  sail,  is  it !  what  would  you 
do  with  that!" 

"Have  it  down,  sir:  see  how  it  strains  the 
mast.  It  is  a  mercy  that  it  has  not  broken  it 
already." 

"  But  it  has  not  broken  it." 

"  That  is  true,  Pippo." 

"  Well,  I  know  it  is.  But  there  is  no  talking 
with  Messer  Luigi." 

"Then,"  said  Luigi,  "go  and  tell  Messer 
Inglese  there,  that  you  want  the  sad  down." 
He  pointed  to  Edward.  Unconscious  of  the 
dispute,  the  Englishman  stood  fixed  to  the 
position  in  which  Luigi  had  left  him,  before 
the  poop.  Regardless  of  the  wind,  or  rather 
impatient  of  its  entangling  his  cloak,  he  had 
thrown  the  cumbersome  garment  aside,  and 
remained  in  his  tight  vest ;  of  which  the  looser 
sleeves  fluttered  and  beat  as  though  the  wind 
would  blow  them  off.  His  head  was  still  bare  ; 
the  blast  had  swept  his  light  hair  all  forward, 
and  it  streamed  from  his  forehead  like  a  flame 
of  light  blown  from  a  torch.  He  stood  firml>, 
resting  more  on  one  leg,  and  his  hand  on  tiiat 
hip ;  while  the  other  hand,  the  fist  clenched, 
was  placed  upon  the  bulwark  as  if  in  mastery 
of  the  fleet  ship.  His  brow  was  fixed  with  the 
intentness  of  his  regard,  which  looked  out  into 
the  sea,  forward  upon  the  path  they  were  pur- 
suing; his  face  and  body  moveless.  He  seemed 
to  hold  the  ship  and  to  urge  it  onward  in  his 
grasp,  as  though  he  would  thrust  it  into  the 
distance  with  mere  might  and  will.  Luigi  held 
his  arm  out,  pointing  with  his  finger  to  the 
steadfast  commander  while  he  scanned  the 
faces  of  the  men.  He  took  them  by  surprise, 
when  he  proceeded  with  a  severe  voice  that 
liad  seldom  been  heard  from  his  genial  lips — 
"  Go,  my  sons,  and  tell  that  Englishman  that 
you  are  Venetians,  who  are  not  used  to  sails, 
nor  to  higii  winds,  and  that  you  want  him  to 
pull  down  this  one  sail  and  take  you  home 
Go,  and  say,  even  while  the  wind  is  now  grow- 
ing less,  that  still  you  are  so  afraid  that  you 
dare  not  go  on.  Go,  and  tell  him,  the  English- 
man, not  to  mistake  you  for  Englishmen  ;  and, 
in  order  that  you  may  be  less  ashamed,  I  will 
allow  you  to  say  that  I  too  am  afraid,  fiir  I  am 
only  a  Venetian,  and  that  I  too  will  take  you 
home  and  be  your  captain  back  ;  because  I  do 
not  think  that  the  Englishman  would  be  your 
captain  back — I  do  not  think  he  would  go  home 
becaut;e  he  was  afraiil  of  the  sea.     So  that. 


54 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


perhaps,  if  you  do  not  persuade  him  that  I  am 
willing  to  go  back,  he  might  resist,  and  you 
would  have  to  try  to  kill  him  first !  and  I  doubt 
whether  you  would  not  be  afraid  of  that  too. 
Go  and  tell  him,  my  sons  ;  and  I  will  share 
your  shame,  rather  than  you  should  die  of  fear. 
Why  do  you  not  stir  !  You  do  not  seem  so 
eager  to  do  it,  now  you  may.  I  see  it,  I  see  it ! 
you  are  ashamed  to  speak  so  ill  of  Venetians. 
Shall  I  go  and  say  it  for  you  1  Shall  I  go  and 
say,  Messer  Inglese,  we  have  not  Englishmen 
on  board,  but  only  Venetians  ;  and  they  are  al! 
afraid!"  He  continued,  in  his  usual  good-hu- 
mored tone — "  Let  me  go  and  tell  him,  boys.  I 
think  he  would  laugh.  I  think  he  would  not 
believe  me.  I  think  he  would  say,  '  I  have  been 
out  with  Zeno  in  fiercer  winds  than  these,  with 
ijone  but  Venetians ;  and  then  the  Venetians 
laughed  and  gloried  in  the  wind  that  went  their 
own  way — the  more  the  better.  These  men 
must  be  no  Venetians. '  Shall  I  go  and  play 
this  jest,  my  sons  1"  He  made  a  step,  as  if 
to  go. 

Zanni  stopped  him.  "  Stay  ;  do  not  tell  him 
anything.  It  was  only  a  dream  of  Pippo  here, 
who  mopes  because  his  girl  cried  till  her  tears 
took  the  starch  out  of  bis  courage." 

"  You  are  the  liar,  Zanni,"  cried  the  abashed 
Pippo  ;  "  it  was  when  one  talked  of  your  babies 
and  your  wife,  that  you  said  you  should  come 
and  speak  to  Messer  Luigi." 

"  You  talked  of  my  wife  yourseii,  Pippo,  to 
make  me  come." 

"Nay,"  interposed  II  Grasso,  "  quarrel  not 
among  yourselves,  because  you  had  all  taken  a 
little  of  the  girls'  fears  along  with  their  last 
kisses,  lads.  You  have  grown  men  now.  Go 
to  your  posts — stay,  Messer  Odoardo  comes. 
Perhaps  it  is  to  take  down  the  sail,  without 
asking." 

Edward  had  turned  his  head,  looking  towards 
the  wind,  which  now  blew  in  much  less  force. 
Starting  from  his  place,  he  came  Ibrward, 
shouting — "  More  sail  there — up  with  the  main- 
sail." 

The  men  stood  still ;  Zanni  looking  half 
abashed — half  amused ;  and  Pippo,  turning  a 
doubtful  half-angry  glance  at  Luigi ;  who  cried, 
"  What  do  you  stand  for,  boys  1  You  have  what 
you  asked  for.     Run,  run  !" 

"Up  with  it,"  shouted  Edward. 

The  men  started  ;  renewed  courage  thrilled 
in  their  busy  arms  ;  and  in  a  minute,  pressed 
by  another  swelling  sail,  the  galley  cleft  the 
roaring  foam  with  added  speed. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

It  was  a  cloudless  morning,  and  the  sun  was 
yet  low,  as  a  party  of  Venetians  assembled  on 
the  shore  of  Tenedos.  The  greater  number 
were  soldiers  in  arms ;  with  here  and  there  a 
follower  of  Zeno's  forces,  more  mariners,  and 
some  few  islanders  whose  eastern  dresses 
varied  the  group.  The  road  that  swept  near 
the  sea  was  crowded  with  other  groups,  who 
seemed  as  if  watching  for  the  approach  of 
something  by  the  land.  The  attention  of  the 
first  group,  however,  was  directed  so  intently 
to  the  sea.  that  even  the  shouts  which  arose 


behind  them,  and  the  sound  of  trumpets  that 
blew  nearer  and  nearer,  scarcely  made  them 
turn  their  heads.  That  which  they  saw  was  a 
vessel  in  the  extreme  distance,  making  for  the 
island  ;  its  white  sails  glaring  in  the  sun,  and 
the  water  sparkling  like  jewels  as  it  was 
thrown  up  by  the  oars.  Meanwhile,  a  new 
spectacle  appeared  on  the  road  behind — bands 
of  soldiers  came  first,  with  all  the  marks  of 
fierce  battle  upon  them.  These  looked  heated 
— those  others  were  pale  with  blood  lost — and 
others  again  were  more  hacked  in  their  sur- 
coats,  their  mail,  and  steel  caps,  than  hurt  in 
their  flesh.  It  was  Carlo  Zeno  and  his  little 
army  returning  from  their  last  victory  over 
Andronicus,  who  had  attempted  to  revoke  the 
gift  of  Calojohannes;  but  he  found  the  Vene- 
tians more  powerful  than  his  imperial  enemy." 
The  Greeks  had  been  utterly  discomfited  after 
two  days'  fighting,  which  had  not  left  the  Ve- 
netians altogether  scathless.  As  the  men 
marched  by,  their  looks  were  turned  to  the 
sea,  for  they  knew  that  the  galley,  which  was 
now  more  distinctly  seen,  came  from  their  own 
fair  city.  After  them  moved  another  band, 
bearing  their  wounded  ;  the  eyes  of  the  sick 
men  were  turned  to  the  open  sea  and  solitary 
sail  upon  it.  They  passed  on,  obedient  to  dis- 
cipline and  fatigue  ;  but  on  reaching  the  spot 
where  the  road  ran  near  the  water's  edge,  a 
nun)her  of  cavaliers  left  the  body  of  the  army, 
and  joined  the  group  by  ihe  shore.  A  few  were 
mounted,  and  one  among  them  was  greeted  by 
the  loudest  shouts,  so  that  you  might  know 
where  he  was  by  the  sound  of  the  voices.  As 
he  dismounted  from  his  horse,  his  hands  were 
seized  by  many  of  the  Venetians,  who  for  a 
moment  forgot  the  sea  ;  and  many  of  the 
islanders  came  around  to  make  their  obeisance. 
He  was  of  an  aspect  to  command  and  to  be 
loved  ;  so  manly  and  agreeable  his  countenance, 
so  strong  and  graceful  his  frame.  He  was  of 
moderate  height,  but  his  just  proportions  made 
him  seem  taller  than  he  was.  His  shoulders 
were  broad  and  square  ;  his  chest  was  large  ; 
his  limbs  were  muscular  and  powerful,  but  the 
extreme  compactness  of  his  well-knit  joints 
gave  an  appearance  of  singular  lightness  and 
activity  to  his  figure.  Albeit,  suffering  from  a 
wound  in  his  leg,  while  one  hand  was  tied  to 
his  chest,  that  another  wound  across  the  back 
might  the  sooner  heal,  the  lameness  did  not 
quite  hide  the  dignity  of  his  carriage.  His  face 
was  somewhat  large  and  broad;  his  forehead 
— for  his  head  was  covered  only  with  a  light 
cap — was  compact  and  straight ;  his  eyes  were 
large,  dark,  and  brilliant,  their  steady  gaze 
taking  now  a  look  of  sternness,  now  of  benig- 
nity ;  the  nose  was  neither  straight  nor  aqui- 
line, but  something  between  the  two  ;  the  thick 
black  beard  on  his  upper  lip  parted  to  cither 
side  as  it  flowed  into  the  manly  crop  that 
clothed  his  chin,  displaying  a  full  and  genial 
mouth,  that  seemed  ever  ready  to  smile.  His 
cheeks,  burned  to  the  deepest  brown  by  the 
sun,  and  slightly  paled  by  the  weakness  and 
pain  of  his  wounds,  yet  showed  the  quick  glow 
of  health.  Having  looked  around  him,  and 
pleasantly  answered  the  salutations  that  reach- 
ed him  from  all  sides,  Carlo  Zeno  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  sea.  The  Venetian  galley  stiH 
drew  nearer.     Suddenly  two  other  vessels  ap- 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


65 


peared,  coming  along  the  shore.  They  were 
Greek  galleys  that  had  been  left  rather  behind 
their  fellows  ;  and  they  steered  so  as  to  cross 
the  course  of  the  Veneiian.  Zeno  was  the  first 
to  see  them,  and  bidding  one  near  him  to  hasten 
to  his  own  galleys  at  the  port,  and  send  two  out 
to  support  their  countryman,  he  watched  with 
anxiety  the  motions  of  those  upon  the  sea. 
The  Venetian  kept  its  course  as  though  it  had 
been  drawn  by  rule,  the  wind  favoring  the  skill 
of  its  mariners.  It  now  became  evident  that 
the  Greeks,  one  of  which  shot  ahead  of  the 
other,  meant  to  hazard  a  parting  blow  against 
their  solitary  foe,  by  way  of  scoff  to  their  victors 
on  shore.     The  Venetians  still  made  on. 

"  Our  countryman,"  cried  Antonio  Veniero, 
"  is  not  easily  daunted  :  his  message  would  be 
more  surely  and  safely  delivered,  if  he  avoided 
the  Greeks." 

"  Be  not  so  sure  of  it,"  answered  the  full, 
clear  voice  of  Zeno.  "  He  that  begins  a  flight, 
may  never  say  wiiither  it  shall  go,  where  end, 
or  how.  And  it  is  no  countryman  of  ours  ex- 
cept in  love." 

Veniero  looked  surprised.  "  Whom  do  you 
think  it,  then,  Messer  Zeno  V 

"  It  is  the  Englishman." 

"Why  should  it  be  no  other!  Surely  our 
:5ailors  are  as  skiUed  as  any,  and  as  bold." 

"A  Venetian  would  have  done  as  you  coun- 
selled, Veniero,  and  would  have  thought  rather 
of  state  reasons  than  a  short  blow.  None  but 
the  Englishman  would  have  kept  so  straight  a 
path  to  his  purpose." 

"Nay,  I  know  one  Venetian  that  would  not 
have  taken  my  counsel. 

"  Who  is  he  V 

"  Carlo  Zeno  ;  for  he  said  so  but  now." 

"  You  have  trapped  me  there,"  said  Zeno, 
laughing. 

"  And  I  know  another,  too  :  Vittor  Pisani 
never  takes  any  but  the  straightest  road." 

"  True,  but  Venice  can  hardly  spare  Pisani 
just  now  to  be  sailing  about  in  a  single  galley. 
No,  it  is  the  Englishman — but  see  !" 

As  he  spoke,  the  foremost  of  the  Greek  gal- 
leys was  about  to  close  with  its  enemy,  which 
had  not  turned  a  hair's  breadth  from  the  straight 
line  to  the  port.  Suddenly  the  Venetian  slop- 
ped, the  oars  arresting  it  in  the  water ;  the 
Greek,  taken  by  surprise,  still  floated  swiftly 
along  on  the  smooth  water  :  the  Venetian  again 
shot  forward  ;  a  few  strokes  sent  it  right  on  the 
galley  as  that  crossed  it — it  touched  it  smartly 
in  the  stern,  breaking  a  few  oars  as  it  passed 
over  them,  and  making  the  stricken  vessel 
lurch  so  that  it  well  nigh  filled  with  water; 
and  then,  floating  clear,  it  resumed  its  rapid 
course  towards  the  land,  passing  in  front  of  the 
other  galley,  whose  people  had  slopped  in  sur- 
prise. Before  the  Greeks  had  recovered  from 
their  dismay,  the  Venetian  was  far  off;  and  as 
they  turned  to  pursue,  the  two  other  galleys  or- 
dered out  by  Zeno  began  to  move  ftom  the 
shore.  So  abandonijig  farther  contest,  tlie 
Greeks  turned  their  prows,  and  put  quickly  out 
to  sea  after  their  comrades.  A  loud  shout 
arose  from  the  land. 

Zeno  and  his  party  went  leisurely  along  the 
shore,  and  came  to  the  landing  place  as  soon 
as  the  galley.  Presently  descended  from  it  the 
Iwo  strangely-matched  companions,  il  Grasso 


and  his  friend  Edwari.  riaving  embraced 
them,  Zeno  conveyed  them  to  the  palace  in 
which  he  lodged,  eager  to  learn  the  tidings 
which  they  had  for  his  private  ear.  As  soon 
as  they  were  alone,  Edward  told  him  all  that 
had  happened  in  Venice,  and  the  desire  which 
the  doge  and  senate  had  for  his  return. 

"But  where,"  said  Zeno,  "is  Vittor  PisamT 
Is  he  still  in  prison  doing  penance  for  the  wind's 
fault  r' 

"  No,"  answered  Edward,  "  the  people  would 
not  be  of  good  heart  without  their  leader  —  in- 
deed they  would  not  go  forth." 

"  Good  !  the  populace  know  too  little  to  be 
led  into  mistakes  by  slate  reasoning." 

"  But  the  senate  are  not  content  without  your 
counsel  and  aid,  both  in  the  chamber  and  in  the 
field." 

"  And  they  shall  have  it,  for  we  should  all 
give  it.  Your  mariners  will  be  fatigued,  and 
we  will  have  a  fresh  set ;  but  methought  your 
galley  came  in  at  a  flying  pace." 

"Why  Edward,"  exclaimed  il  Grasso,  "would 
drive  a  galley  to  the  world's  end  faster  than 
any  other  could  come  here.  Storms  hinder 
other  men,  him  they  serve." 

"  If  we  would  conquer  in  this  world,  Messer 
Luigi,"  replied  Zeno,  "  we  must  learn  to  turn 
our  mishaps  to  good  use,  as  well  as  our  good 
luck,  or  we  lose  half  our  power  :  the  invader 
drove  our  forefathers  into  the  lagoon,  where 
they  have  built  our  fair  city  and  all  its  power." 

"  Well,  Edward  is  good  for  using  mishaps  ; 
in  sooth,  I  think  he  prefers  ill  luck ;  just  as 
your  patriotism,  Messer  Zeno,  grows  all  the 
more  for  being  ill  used." 

"A  country,  Messer  Luigi,  cannot  be  said  to 
ill-treat  its  children,  for  all  that  ihey  enjoy  be- 
yond savages  is  the  gift  of  the  country  ;  all  that 
they  can  do,  they  owe  to  it  ;  and  all  that  they 
throw  into  the  common  treasury  is  repaid  to 
them  with  interest.  We  must  not  gauge  that 
free  gift  by  our  desires,  and  say  that  it  falls 
short,  when  naked  man,  by  himself,  would  be 
but  a  brute  to  whose  life  we  should  prefer 
death.  All  of  wealth,  and  power,  and  fame  that 
a  Venetian  has  he  owes  to  Venice." 

"And  Venice  again  to  Venetians." 

"  The  more  reason  why  they  should  bestow 
on  it  all  they  can.  But  I  wiU  not  contest  with 
so  skilled  a  casuist  as  Messer  Luigi.  Let  us 
rather  talk  of  our  departure.  Arc  you  sick  of 
the  sea,  my  friends,  and  shall  I  leave  you  ;  or 
will  you  convey  me  back  in  that  same  fleet 
galley  of  yours  1" 

"But,"  said  Edward,  "you  will  not  depart 
before  your  wounds  are  healed  ?" 

"  Why,  they  will  heal  best  at  sea.  But  in 
truth  they  are  nought ;  and  as  neither  of  yon 
are  new  to  the  sea,  we  will  go  forthwith.  But 
first  I  must  take  order  for  the  proper  care  of 
this  our  new  possession.  It  is  fortunate  that  we 
have  chased  away  the  Greeks  before  you  came." 

Causing  food  to  be  placed  before  his  friends, 
he  was  closeted  for  a  time  with  Antonio  Ven- 
iero, whom  he  left  governor  of  tlie  island. 
Then  making  his  servants  carry  a  few  clothes 
on  board  the  galley,  and  pick  out  fresh  mari- 
ners and  rowers,  he  summoned  his  visiters ; 
and  in  a  little  time  the  galley  was  again  plough- 
ing the  waters. 

"  The  wind  is  against  us,"  said  Zeno. 


d6 


THE  FOSTER  BROTH IIR. 


"  The  more  praise  to  our  rowers  for  sending 
us  forward  so  f;ist,  maugre  the  wind,"  said 
Edward:  "if  they  are  as  willing  and  as  tough 
as  those  that  brought  us  out,  we  need  think 
little  about  the  weather." 

"Ay,  wilHng  as  they  were,"  cried  Luigi, 
"  now  you  have  parted  with  them,  my  friend, 
I  may  leil  you  that  they  were  near  rebelhng, 
because  you  thought  them  too  willing." 

"  How  so  ■" 

"  Why,  scarce  had  we  issued  from  the 
lagoon  ere  some  dozen  of  them  would  have 
forced  you  to  return." 

"  But  they  did  not,"  said  Edward. 

"No,  they  were  ashamed,  and  I  made  them 
more  so  ;  and  after  they  seemed  as  if  you 
could  scarcely  go  fast  enough  for  them." 

"It  is  ever  so,"  said  Zeno  ;  "those  men 
who  have  never  made  trial  of  their  own  mind, 
are  ever  bolder  than  they  think  themselves, 
and  grateful  to  whomsoever  will  discover  it  for 
them.  A  leader  is  seldom  abandoned  by  his 
men  for  being  too  bold  ;  but  often  for  not  being 
bold  enough.  Those  who  are  to  follow  must 
ever  be  sure  that  those  who  are  to  lead  will 
keep  in  front,  go  those  behind  as  fast  as  they 
may." 

Edward  started  :  "  The  wind  has  come  round 
on  our  side,"  cried  he,  "a  sail  will  help  us 
now."  And  presently  a  fresh  spur  was  given 
to  the  straining  galley. 


CHAPTER  XXVni. 

Hard  was  the  fate  of  Venice  after  Edward 
had  left  it  in  quest  of  Carlo  Zeno.  So  envi- 
roned was  it  by  enemies,  that  provision  could 
scarce  be  brought  to  it,  and  while  the  grain 
ran  low  in  the  stores,  food  carried  in  wiih 
peril  and  difficulty  became  costly.  Though 
Pisani  kept  the  Genoese  employed,  the  citizens 
of  the  lagoon  grew  accustomed  to  hear  that 
the  foe  had  made  slow  advance  :  with  bastion 
and  manganel  they  encroached  upon  the  lit- 
torale.  As  the  days  passed,  many  an  eye 
was  turned  to  the  coast,  in  hopes  of  hearing 
that  Zeno  had  come  to  breathe  new  life  into 
the  dispirited  soldiers.  "While  the  great  trem- 
bled for  their  wealth  and  high  estate,  the  poor 
were  scanted  in  their  food.  Men  collected  in 
the  streets  and  in  the  great  square,  gloomy  and 
angered  ;  and  women  staid  at  home,  to  soothe 
hungry  babes  and  weep  away  the  day.  Turn- 
bull  had  been  well  provided  by  Sebastian,  and 
he  often  jested  to  Teresa  on  the  princely  prices 
that  he  paid  for  his  bread  and  wine.  Little 
did  he  think  that  he  alone  in  that  house  fed 
well.  Jacopo's  long  absence  had  left  Teresa'a 
purse  quite  exhausted.  The  gold  which  Se- 
bastian had  forced  upon  her,  to  furnish  better 
food  for  iier  sick  mother,  had  been  husbanded, 
until  only  a  little  remained,  not  for  better  food, 
but  for  a?  much  as  Bianca  would  eat,  while 
Teresa  sat  with  her  almost  fasting.  Jacopo 
came  not ;  there  were  no  tidings  of  Ranieri ; 
Sebastian,  whom  they  had  hoped  to  behold  a 
few  days  after  his  departure,  was  not  suffered 
to  leave  the  front  of  the  advancing  foe.  Bianca 
had  again  grown  sick  and  weak,  and  kept 
tuostfy  to  her  bed  ;  and  Teresa  began  to  think 


of  teaching  herself  to  ask  charity  of  their  guard, 
for  her  mother's  sake  ;  when  one  day  as  she 
sat  beside  her  sleeping  mother,  she  heard  foot- 
steps in  the  next  room;  not  the  heavy  tread 
of  the  English  soldier,  but  lighter,  and  the  steps 
of  more  than  one.  At  first  the  blood  rushed 
to  her  heart,  as  she  thought  that  it  was  Se- 
bastian ;  but  the  steps  were  not  so  marked 
and  steady  as  his.  There  were  voices.  She 
rose  to  prevent  her  mother's  being  disturbed, 
and  as  she  did  so,  the  door  of  the  chamber 
opened,  and  Ranieri  entered,  followed  by  her 
father !  Starting  at  the  unexpected  sight,  she 
rushed  into  his  arms  ;  but  the  next  moment 
she  motioned  for  him  to  be  silent,  lest  her  mo- 
ther should  be  surprised.  It  was  too  late  .- 
Bianca  was  awake,  and  she  had  turned  round. 
Nor  was  she  surprised  ;  for  every  day  and  every 
hour  had  she  looked  at  the  door,  expecting  to 
see  the  wanderer.  She  was  not  surprised  that 
he  came  not,  neither  that  he  came.  Jacopo 
approached,  and  taking  his  wife  in  his  arms, 
he  wept  to  see  her  weak  condition.  When 
Ranieri  had  embraced  his  sister  and  mother, 
Jacopo  sat  down  by  the  bed  ;  and  the  long  sep- 
paraled  husband  and  wife,  father  and  daughter, 
looked  upon  er.cii  other. 

"  Bianca  mine,"  said  Jacopo  quickly,  hut 
sadly,  "disease  has  hastened  the  work  of  time 
with  you,  as  travel  has  with  me.  You  look  as 
kind  as  ever,  sposa  mia,  but  your  cheeks  are 
pale,  and  your  brow  is  wrinkled.  And,  thougii 
I  have  not  been  absent  many  munihs,  you  never 
saw  these  locks  so  gray  before."  And  he 
stooped  down  as  he  shook  them  half  playfully 
into  his  wife's  face.  She  smiled ;  but  no  one 
told  Jacopo  how  much  he  was  altered.  His  face 
was  pale  and  thin,  and  had  the  dry  skin  of  a 
much  older  man.  His  gray  eyes  were  lighter, 
more  glassy,  and  more  restless  than  ever.  Yet 
there  was  still  about  his  slender  frame  the  air 
of  activity  and  liveliness.  His  dress  was  much 
worn.  The  black  was  now,  like  his  head,  turned 
gray.  He  had  no  cloak:  and  one  of  his  outer 
sleeves  was  torn  off  at  the  elbow,  the  other 
hung  ragged  and  soiled  ;  and  the  point  of  his 
sword  peeped  through  a  scabbard  that  had 
knocked  against  many  a  floor. — "And  Teresa  I" 
he  continued  :  "she  is  altered.  She,  too,  looks 
older ;  but  she  is  too  young  yet,  sposa  mia,  to 
be  the  worse  for  that.  I  do  not  think  that  she 
is  taller,  and  yet  she  looks  so.  Per  Dio  e  Bacco, 
I  think  that  she  is  a  more  stately  damsel  than 
you  were,  Bianca,  before  you  spoiled  a  princess 
of  the  vineyard  by  marrying  an  unlucky  gentle- 
man. Ranieri  is  more  grown,  and  is  more 
manly;  and  yet  there  is  a  change  in  Teresina 
that  more  surprises  me." 

The  others,  saying  little,  looked  on  while  he 
talked,  surveying  their  lost  one.  Without  much 
bidding  he  told  them  all,  enjoining  secrecy,  how 
he  had  a  message  of  importance  to  carry  from 
a  great  prince  to  Carlo  Zeno  ;  how  he  had  taken 
ship  and  voyaged  to  Constantinople  ;  how  there 
he  fought  to  restore  the  emperor,  not  bemg  able 
to  get  a  ship  back  ;  how.  at  length,  the  Zeno 
had  found  a  ship  in  which  he  might  return  with 
an  answer  to  the  prince  ;  how  he  did  so ;  and 
at  length  he  had  met  Ranieri,  who  was  seeking 
him  even  in  the  lion's  den — in  Padua.  "  The 
boy  got  in  and  out  with  one  of  the  country 
women  going  into  the  market,  who  passed  him 


I'HE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


57 


as  her  son  ;   and   he   paid  her  in  kisses,  the  i  leave  Venice,  my  dear  husband.     This  house, 
wicked  rogue."     Ilanieri  had  laughed  when  he    if  sold,  will  give  us  money  :  it  is  our  last,  but  it 


told  his  father ;  but  he  did  not  mean  to  have  it 
told  to  his  sister.  "  The  noble  prince,"  said 
Jacopo,  "gave  me  money  for  my  wants.  I 
thought  to  have  brought  the  most  of  it  back  to 
you,  Bianca  ;  but  in  so  long  a  time  it  is  all 
gone ;  and  he  was  so  much  in  haste  when  I 
last  saw  him,  that  he  did  not  think  of  it  again. 
So  I  have  returned,  as  I  went — a  beggar." 

"  You  are  returned,  and  that  is  all  we  want. 
Teresa,  my  child,  give  your  father  to  eat." 

Teresa  moved  a  step  as  if  to  obey,  stopped, 
and  hesitated.  She  staggered.  She  was  dizzy, 
and  would  have  fallen,  had  not  Ranieri  caught 
her  in  his  arms.  He  set  her  on  the  bed,  and 
supported  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"She  is  faint,  too,  for  want  of  food,"  cried 
Bianca.  "  She  eats  nothing.  Daily  she  schools 
me  to  eat,  and  yet  I  cannot  force  her.  Or  is 
it,"  she  added  to  Teresa,  in  a  lower  voice, 
passing  her  arm  round  the  girl's  waist,  "  that 
when  your  father  returned,  you  thought  that 

another " 

Teresa  pressed  her  motiier's  hand,  to  make 
her  silent. 

"  She  lacks  food,"  said  Jacopo  ;  "  go  you, 
Ranieri, — you  know  where  it  is  kept, — and 
fetch  her  some." 

Teresa  held  her  brother.  "  There  is  none," 
she  murmured. 

"None  !     Go,  then,  my  son,  and  buy  some. 
Give  him  the  money,  Teresa." 
"  There  is  no  money." 

"No  money!  Alas!  and  have  I  left  you 
thus  helpless  while  I  have  been  wandering  on 
other's  business!  Fool  that  I  am."  And  for 
the  twentieth  time  in  his  life  Jacopo  was  lost 
in  anger  at  his  own  folly,  in  destroying  those 
he  most  loved  while  he  did  the  behest  of 
strangers. 

Her  father's  grief  aroused  Teresa,  and  she 
did  her  best  to  console  him.  Again  s!ie  thought 
of  craving  help  from  TurnbuU  ;  but  she  could 
neither  bear  to  let  him  see  Sebastian's  mistress 
in  such  need,  lest  Sebastian  should  dislike  it, 
nor  to  take  the  bread  of  the  simple  soldier,  un- 
certain whether  she  could  restore  it.  She  per- 
suaded her  father,  that  fortune  would  soon  be 
better  with  them  ;  and  he  was  willingly  con- 
soled. When  he  was  calmer,  Bianca  made 
their  children  retire,  and  her  husband  sit  once 
more  by  her  side,  while  she  recounted  what 
had  befallen  them  in  his  absence.  She  told 
him  how  she  had  sent  for  him,  because  their 
daughter  was  not  safe  ;  relating  her  message 
to  Marco  Morosini  craving  aid  ;  and  Morosini's 
pursuit  of  Teresa.  She  told  him  nothing  of  Se- 
bastian. Teresa  did  not  wish  to  conceal  aught 
from  her  father ;  but  when  she  motioned  her 
mother  to  be  silent,  she  did  it  because  she  liked 
not  to  hear  her  talc  told  in  her  presence,  and 
because,  in  sooth,  she  was  not  sorry  to  delay 
her  father's  knowing.  Perhaps  Bianca  mis- 
understood Teresa's  sign  for  one  of  secrecy, 
though  Teresa  was  not  wont  to  keep  secrets 
from  her  father  ;  perhaps  the  mother  too  liad 
little  wish  to  make  a  disclosure  to  Jaco[)o  for 
which  Sebastian  had  not  yet  signified  his  con- 
Bent  ;  perhaps  she  even  shared  Teresa's  dislike 
to  tell  the  strange  story  to  the  uncertain  and 
iiasty  Jacopo.  "  But,"  she  said,  "  we  must 
H 


will  carry  us  to  a  place  of  safety ;  and  it  is  less 
hurt  for  your  pride  to  sell  the  house  of  your 
fathers,  than  it  was  to  marry  a  poor  peasant 
girl,  my  Jacopo.  We  must  not  part  again, 
for  Teresa's  sake  ;  but  you  are  not  safe  in 
Venice." 
"How  sol" 

"I  know  not;  but  since  Ranieri  left  us  to 
seek  you,  you  have  been  accused  as  a  traitor  to 
Venice."  And  she  told  him  of  the  conspiracy 
of  la  Gobba,  and  the  hunt  for  him  in  his  own 
house  ;  and  of  Sebastian's  coming  to  their 
rescue. 

"And  who  is  this  man  that  I  see  below T' 
"  It  is  a  guard  who  was  left  with  us  by  Mes- 
ser  Sebastiano  Morosini." 

"  And  could  not  this  same  Sebastian  aid  us  I 
Why  have  you  not  asked  himl" 

"Nay,  Jacopo,  he  is  no  longer  in  Venice,  hut 
is  away  to  Chiozza,  and  we  cannot  seek  him. 
Nor  could  he  give  us  much  aid ;  for  his  father 
is  our  enemy,  and  would  prevent  him.  But  we 
must  leave  Venice." 

"But  why,  dear  Bianca!  Let  me  lie  con- 
cealed here,  and  I  can  still  protect  you." 

"  No,  no,  Jacopo  ;  you  are  not  safe  in  Venice  -. 
they  have  offered  a  reward  for  you." 
"A  reward  !" 
"Yes." 

"And  for  what  1" 

"I  believe  for  joining  in  the  conspiracy  of 
which  I  told  you.  They  say  that  you  are  a 
traitor  in  league  with  that  worse  than  traitor, 
Carrara." 

"That  is  a  mistake  ;  nor  is  Carrara  traitor. 
But  truly,  something  must  be  done,  and  that 
speedily.  I  will  not  leave  you  more  ;  and  \vc 
will  eat  or  starve  together,  Bianca  mia  ;  or 
rather  we  will  eat,  for  food  you  shall  have  be- 
fore night,  though  the  house  go  for  it." 

For  some  time  Jacopo  was  lost  in  thought,  his 
restless  eye  often  wandering  to  Bianca's  faded 
form.  When  Teresa  returned,  he  again  asked 
who  was  the  strange  man  in  the  house.  She 
looked  to  her  mother,  and  was  about  to  explain, 
but  Bianca  again  told  her  husband  as  before, 
that  Sebastian  had  left  the  mati  to  guard  them 
in  his  absence.  Then  Jacopo  said  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  remain  longer,  as  he 
himself  should  not  be  absent  any  more.  Te- 
resa hesitated;  but  she  left  the  chamber  lo 
obey.  Making  the  most  of  her  English,  she 
told  TurnbuU  that  his  protection  was  no  longer 
wanted  ;  and  much  thanking  him,  dismissed 
him,  with  the  injunction  to  seek  out  Messer 
Sebastiano  Morosini,  and  to  tell  him  secretly, 
that  the  protector  whose  return  she  expected, 
had  come.  TurnbuU  left  his  quiet  and  easy 
duty  with  regret ;  and  kissing  her  hand  in  more 
courtier-like  tenderness  than  she  could  have 
expected,  he  departed.  She  too  had  her  re- 
gret ;  for  his  presence  was  endeared  to  her  by 
Sebastian's  care,  and  moreover  she  had  little 
confidence  in  her  father's  protection.  Formerly, 
she  had  less  fear  of  encountering  the  dangers 
of  her  defenceless  state  ;  but  now  she  regarded 
herself  as  something  which  she  held  in  charge 
for  her  future  husband. 

Having  returned  with  Ranieri  to  her  mother's 
room,  the  next  hour  passed  drearily.     Suddenly 


58 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


Jacopo  rose,  and  led  his  son  into  the  hall,  that  I  shall  say  that  I  have  gone  again  to  the  main 
they  might  conifer  alone.  After  a  few  hasty  j  land,  and  that  I  iiave  sent  the  money  which  1 
turns,  Jacopo  stopped,  and  exclaimed,  "Your    have  got  for  them." 

mother,  Ranieri,  is  sorely  borne  down  by  sick-  "  Never.  I  will  not  stay  to  hear  you.  I  will 
ness  !"  ,  tell  Teresa,  and  ask  her  if  I  should  do  it."    And 

"  I  fear  so  !"  cried  Ranieri,  alarmed  at  the  '  he  was  about  to  walk  away, 
re-echo  of  his  own  dread.  His  father  held  him.  "Stay,  Ranieri ;  Teresa 

My  son,"  began  Jacopo,  and  paused,  looking    has  not  taught  you  to  despise  and  disobey  your 


earnestly  at  the  youth,  who  still  waited  for  his 
father  to  proceed.  "My  son,  could  you  make 
some  great  trial  to  save  herV 

"  Ah  !  If  you  could  tell  me  how  !  I  can  de- 
vise nothing,  though  none  were  too  great.  If 
I  could  serve  her  by  dying,  I  would.  And  Te- 
resa— I  marvel  how  she  can  bear  herself  up  as 
she  does.  I  have  watched  her,  and  she  seems 
at  times  to  be  more  afflicted  even  than  the 
mother." 

"  You  need  not  die,  Ranieri ;  but  I  can  show 
you  how  you  can  achieve,  something  which 
fihall  bring  home  plenty  of  gold,  so  that  your 
mother  may  live,  and  all  of  you  have  abund- 
ance." 

"  Tell  it  me,  then,  and  it  shall  be  done  at 
once." 

"  Hear  me.  You  should  know  that  the  Ten 
have  declared  me  traitor,  and  have  offered  a 
reward  to  whomsoever  shall  bring  me  captive. 
I  am  not  traitor,  as  I  can  one  day  show.  It  is 
not  because  I  have  served  Carrara,  as  I  have 
done,  that  I  should  be  traitor  to  Venice.  I 
will  discharge  myself  of  tliis  reproach  one 
day.  But  now  it  shall  serve  us,  boy.  I 
would  have  this  reward  for  your  mother's 
use." 

"But  how,  father  minel  Rather  let  it  be 
had  by  no  one." 

"  Nay,  nay,  Ranieri,  Venice  shall  pay  to  your 
mother  and  sister,  for  having  called  me  trai- 
tor ;  and  that  is  the  revenge  that  I  will  have 
of  it."' 

"  What  is  it  you  mean  T' 

'•  You  shall  Iiave  it,  Ranieri." 

"  How,  my  father  1" 

"You  shall  claim  it — you  shall  give  me  up." 

"Never." 

"  Ranieri  mine,  you  said  that  you  could  do 
any  service  for  your  mother,  yet  you  start  back 
at  the  first  you  hear." 

"  It  would  not  he  serving  her  to  betray  my 
father  and  disgrace  her  son.  No,  my  father  ; 
let  us  bear  the  misfortunes  of  our  house  ;  but  I 
am  sure  that  if  crimes  disgrace  it,  my  mother 
would  die." 

"  Ranieri,  it  must  be  done,  and  without  hurt 
to  your  mother.  Fear  not  for  me :  the  worst 
for  me  would  be  a  few  days  or  a  few  months 
in  prison  ;  for  as  soon  as  I  choose  to  speak,  I 
can  prove  tiiat  I  am  no  traitor,  and  shall  be 
free.  But  I  cannot  bear  this  misfortune,  of  see- 
ing your  mother  perishing  for  the  want  of  that 
money  of  which  my  ill-fortunes,  or  my  follies, 
have  deprived  her.  If  you  have  so  much  for- 
titude, I  have  not ;  and  rather  would  I  perish  in 
a  prison,  and  be  happier  so,  than  stay  here  to 
see  her  die  in  helplessnes^'. 

"  No,  father,  never  could  I  do  it.  I  am  cer- 
tain that  Teresa  would  cast  me  off  if  I  did  ;  and 
the  bread  thus  bought  would  be  poison  to  us 
all." 

"  But  it  should  not  be  known,  my  son.  You 
must  do  it,  and  you  alone  must  know  it.     You 


father? 

The  youth  stopped.  His  sister  had  been 
careful  in  her  lessons,  to  counteract  what  she 
silently  felt  to  be  the  effect  of  her  unstable 
father's  conduct,  and  to  teach  her  brother  ever 
to  respect  him.  Jacopo,  therefore,  was  armed 
with  the  influence  of  Teresa  in  urging  what  the 
hoy  felt  Teresa  would  have  forbidden.  He 
hoped  that  his  sister  would  interrupt  them  ;  but, 
unconscious  of  her  father's  sudden  project, 
she  came  not.  Ranieri  looked,  now  to  this, 
now  to  that  open  door,  and  listened  fur  his  sis- 
ter's firm  and  light  footstep  ;  but  all  he  heard 
was  the  low  murmur  which  the  desert  rooms 
echoed  to  his  father's  half-whispered  persua- 
sion. Wanting  counsel,  he  stood  still  and  si- 
lent, almost  hoping  that  it  was  a  i)ad  dream ; 
and  slowly  he  yielded — the  father  had  bent  the 
boy  to  his  will. 

"  And  now,  Ranieri,"  cried  Jacopo,  "  dry 
your  tears,  and  summon  the  courage  your  sis- 
ter has  taught  you.     It  must  be  done  at  once." 

"  No,  not  to-day  ;  I  cannot  have  courage 
yet." 

"  Yes,  at  once  ;  for  your  mother  needs  fooi? 
each  moment ;  and  as  time  goes  on,  they  may 
discover  that  I  am  innocent,  and  so  the  reward 
may  be  withdrawn.  Let  us  come  at  once, 
while  we  are  alone,  and  before  those  we  would 
serve,  have  seen  your  pale  face."  Jacopo 
went  on  to  instruct  his  son  how  to  contrive  his 
surrender. 

Ranieri  stared  at  his  father,  half  stunned 
with  fear  and  horror.  He  pressed  his  hand  on 
his  eyes  ;  then,  saying,  "  I  am  ready,"  he  stood 
to  follow.  Jacopo  moved  towards  the  house 
door  ;  but  before  he  opened  it,  Ranieri  stopped 
him  by  crying — "  Father,  embrace  me."  Ja- 
copo took  his  son  in  liis  arms,  and  pressed  him 
to  his  bosom,  with  a  muttered  blessing  ;  but  he 
did  it  hastily,  eager  to  be  gone ;  and  they  is- 
sued into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Yielding  to  the  fate  which  over-mastered 
him,  Ranieri  now  thought  only  of  the  task  im- 
posed upon  him ;  and  he  made  the  best  speed 
he  could  to  the  house  of  the  governor  of  the 
city.  He  had  entered  the  hall,  and  was  look- 
ing about  to  see  whom  he  might  best  address, 
when  a  serving  man,  dressed  in  half  soldier 
fashion,  as  many  then  were  in  the  city,  came 
forward  with  a  swaggering  caiTiage,  and  cried, 
"Ola,  youngster;  what  do  you  here  ^  There 
are  too  many  guards  here  for  thieves,  and  Ve- 
nice wants  aJl  the  money  that  beggars  crave. 
Run,  run  I"  » 

"  I  wish,"  answered  the  youth,  nothing  soared 
by  the  big  lackey,  nor  his  big  beard  and  big 
words, — "  I  wish  to  see  my  lord,  the  governor." 

"  You  see  my  lord,  in  sooth  1  My  lord  is  nev- 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


59 


IV  at  leisure  to  see  idle  boys.  Run,  I  tell  you. 
Go  to  ills  office  if  you  want  him,  at  the  palace, 
in  the  morning." 

Nay,  Messer  Soldato,  my  affair  is  pressing, 
and  I  must  not  be  refused.  If  you  turn  me  back, 
it  may  be  worse  for  you." 

"  What,  do  you  threaten,  puppet  1  then  I 
must  whip  you."  And  he  drew  his  sword  to 
strilve  the  intruder.  Ranieri's  face  flushed  ;  he 
drew  the  small  poniard  that  hung  on  his  left 
ride,  and  with  flashing  eye  stood  his  ground, 
liut  another  attendant  interposed,  and  saying 
that  even  so  young  a  boy  might  have  real 
business  for  the  governor,  moderated  his  fel- 
low's wrath.  The  big  man  sheathed  his  long 
sword,  nothing  loath  to  avoid  cutting  his  fingers 
with  Ranieri's  sharply-drawn  little  weapon ; 
and  he  retreated  with  dignity,  saying  to  his 
companion, — "  Do  as  you  will ;  be  the  damage 
yours." 

The  other  man  went  at  Ranieri's  bidding, 
to  crave  admission  to  the  high  functionary, 
and  presently  returned.  The  boy  stopped,  and 
asked  the  man  his  name.  "  Cecco,"  replied 
he.  "Await  my  coming  out,  then,  for  I  may 
need  you  :  and  you  shall  not  lose  by  being 
civil." 

Ranieri  found  the  governor  in  a  large  room, 
at  a  large  table  ;  with  some  people  sitting  at  it, 
and  others  walking  about;  all  the  officers  of 
\'enice  were  engaged  at  that  hard  time.  Some 
were  busily  talking  ;  others  looked  at  him  care- 
lessly as  he  came  in,  but  looked  away  directly. 
The  man  led  him  by  the  governor's  chair. 
Messer  Orso  Quirino  continued  reading  a  pa- 
per that  lay  before  him  ;  and  then  turned  round 
suddenly,  and  said  in  the  abrupt  severe  manner 
of  one  whose  time  is  too  scanty  to  be  wasted, — 
"  Now,  boy,  what  is  it  V 

"My  lord,  I  came  to  ask  for  aid  in  seizing  a 
man  who  has  been  proclaimed  a  traitor.  ' 
"Ha  !  who  is  he  !" 
"  Jacopo  Arduino." 

Tlie  governor  leaned  towards  a  gentleman 
that  sat  near  him,  and  said,  "  Has  any  Ardui- 
no been  proclaimed  traitor  1" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  person  who  was  spoken 
to  :  "  Jacopo  Arduino.  He  is  accused  with 
others  in  the  conspiracy  of  la  Gobba.  There 
is  a  reward  offered  for  him." 

The  governor  turned  to  Ranieri.  "  Is  he  in 
Venice  V 

"  Hard  by,  my  lord  :  if  I  have  aid  now,  I  can 
bring  him  to  you  forthwith.  Give  me  this  man 
that  is  here,  and  another,  and  we  could  master 
him." 

"  Go  with  him,  Cecco,"  said  the  governor, 
"  and  take  another  with  you.  Bring  this  boy 
and  the  other  person  into  my  private  room."^ 
Ranieri  saluted  the  head  of  the  police,  who 
had  already  turned  his  back  upon  him,  and  left 
the  saloon.  As  tiiey  went,  he  desired  Cecco  to 
take  any  one  with  him  but  the  bully  whom  he 
had  met  in  the  hall ;  for  they  might  need  one 
who  could  fight.  Presently  he  was  again  in 
the  streets,  wiili  two  stout  fighting  men  at  iiis 
back.  Tiie  encounter  with  his  opponent  had 
stirred  his  blood,  and  in  checking  his  progress 
had  spurred  his  intent;  so  that  in  place  of 
grieving,  he  now  almost  desired  to  accomplish 
his  enterprise.  He  walked  briskly  along  until 
he  entered  a  small  wine-shop,  where  he  knew 


that  he  should  meet  his  father.  Jacopo  was 
sitting  on  a  low  stool,  with  a  flask  near  him  ; 
the  wine-seller,  an  old  acquaintance,  having 
forced  a  cheering  draught  on  the  unfortunate 
gentleman,  whose  kind  and  easy  manner  made 
him  liked  by  all.  At  a  table  near  were  the 
master  of  the  shop  and  another  ;  who,  with 
arms  folded  on  the  table,  were  trying  to  draw 
from  the  talkative  Arduino  where  he  had  been 
and  all  that  he  had  encountered.  As  Ranieri 
entered,  the  wine-seller  rose,  and  came  to- 
wards him.  Without  heeding  him,  Ranieri 
turned  to  Cecco,  and  pointing  to  his  father, 
said,  "  That  is  the  man — se^e  him  !"  The 
governor's  men  advanced  as  they  were  bid. 
Jacopo  drew  back,  as  if  he  mistrusted  them ; 
but  Cecco,  crying,  "  Now,  master  traitor,  it 
were  useless  to  try  escape  ;  let  us  go  quietly," 
took  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Stop,  stop  !"  exclaimed  the  wine-dealer  ; 
"  What  is  this  1  What  rude  fellows  are  ye, 
that  think  to  brawl  in  my  house.  This  is  an 
honest  gentleman,  and  my  good  friend,  and  he 
shall  get  no  hurt  here." 

"Meddle  in  what  concerns  you,  Signer  Vina- 
jo,"  said  Cecco,  carelessly  ;  "  the  less  you  call 
Messer  traditore  here  your  friend  the  better  for 
you.  I  reckon  you  do  not  wish  to  take  up  your 
lodging  with  la  Gobba  under  the  Leads  V 

"  What  ribaldry  is  Ihisl  Have  we  la  Gobba 
here,  rascal  1  Get  out  of  my  house,  or  I  may 
chance  to  chase  you." 

"  Now  stand  aside,  honest  man,  and  do  not 
bring  yourself  into  trouble.  Well,  if  you  re- 
sist— Siefano,  come  forward.;  here  is  a  fool 
wants  to  keep  company  with  our  prisoner  to 
the  governor's  custody,  as  proclaimed  traitor  by 
the  Ten." 

At  the  title,  the  wine-dealer  let  fall  the  hand 
which  he  had  placed  upon  the  knife  in  his  belt, 
and  looked  at  Jacopo ;  who  now,  anxious  to 
close  the  quarrel  which  might  interfere  with  his 
project,  came  forward,  and  asked  Cecco  by 
what  right  he  seized  him.  "  By  the  governor's 
order,  to  seize  you  for  a  traitor,"  answered  the 
man. 

"Messer  Jacopo  is  no  traitor,"  cried  the 
sturdy  wine-dealer,  whose  terror  of  the  Ten 
again  died  away  at  witnessing  the  injury  to 
his  unfortunate  friend:  "  Who  accuses  himl" 
"  Oh,  there  are  many  that  accuse  him," 
replied  Cecco  ;  "  and  one  is  this  young  gentle- 
man." 

"That!"  cried  the  wine-dealer,  his  voice 
harsh  with  surprise  and  disgust.  "  Why  that 
is  his  son  V 

"  May  be  so.  Son  or  no  son,  he  has  done  a 
service  to  Venice  in  giving  up  a  traitoj-.  Come, 
Messer  Jacopo,  if  that  is  your  name,  you  know 
you  had  better  not  resist." 

"  Well,"  said  the  wine-dealer,  grinding  his 
teeth,  "  if  you  willgo,  Messer  Jacopo,  you  must ; 
but  we  will  keep  you,  if  it  so  please  you.  And 
at  least  we  will  keep  this  good  son  here  ;  a  lit- 
tle washing  in  the  lagoon  inay  get  out  some  of 
his  starch  virtue.  So  virtuous  a  boy,  that  he 
must  think  his  own  father  a  traitor,  is  too  good 
to  live.  Help  me  to  hold  him,  Nadalc,"  he  ad- 
ded, to  the  man  who  had  sat  with  him. 

Ranieri  looked  towards  his  father  ;  but  Ja- 
copo, uncertain  what  to  do,  turned  away  his 
head.     Seeing  the  angry  wino  dea  Icr  advance, 


60 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


Ranieri,  half  sorrowing  to  be  reproaclied  by  one 
that  showed  so  s-taiiiich  a  friend,  half  fearing 
for  iiimself,  drew  hack,  and  put  his  hand  to  his 
ponard.  The  other  man,  who  had  hitherto  re- 
mained silent,  had  before  risen  from  his  seat  to 
look  at  the  son  that  betrayed  his  father  ;  an.d 
he  now  came  behind  the  youth  and  snddenly 
seized  him  by  the  arms,  which  he  drew  tightly 
together,  so  that  the  elbows  met.  Ranieri 
struggled  to  free  himself;  but  the  hands  were 
too  tough  for  his  more  youthful  limbs.  He  had 
almost  felt  inclined  to  declare  his  father  no 
traitor,  by  disclosing  his  scheme  ;  but  now  the 
cense  of  danger  to  himself  was  uppermost,  and 
provoked  him  to  resistance.  His  cheek  glow- 
ed, and  his  eye  gleamed  steadily  as  the  sturdy 
fellow  grasped  him  roughly  by  the  clothes  at  his 
breast  ;  but  just  at  that  moment  Cecco  again 
interfered  ;  striking  down  the  other's  hand,  and 
eaying — "  Nor  that  neither,  galant'  uomo.  If 
we  must  take  the  traitor,  we  must  also  take 
the  witness.  Besides,  this  young  man  is  our 
captain  for  the  nonce,  and  we  must  not  let  him 
come  to  harm.  Loose  your  hold,  man,  loose 
your  hold,  I  say."  The  man  laughed,  seeming 
to  be  cowed  l)y  Cecco's  loud  tone  of  authority, 
and  Ilanieri's  arms  were  again  free.  He  slop- 
ped for  an  instant,  reluctantly  yielding  the  de- 
sire to  resent  the  violence  ;  but  more  discreet- 
ly followed  the  men  as  they  led  his  father  from 
the  house,  returning  with  cool  defiance  the 
ecowl  of  those  he  left  behind. 

"  What  a  pity,"  cried  the  host,  "  that  such  a 
smart  lad  should  be  so  base  a  son  !"  The 
silent  man  laughed  again,  and  reseated  himself 
to  listen  to  his  friend's  copious  commentary  on 
Jacopo's  adventures,  and  this  last  the  most  peri- 
lous of  them. 

By  good  fortune,  Ranieri  and  his  strange 
train  encountered  none  of  the  few  people  whom 
lie  knew,  before  they  were  once  more  in  the 
presence  of  the  governor.  Two  other  gentle- 
men sat  by  that  high  officer,  and  near  him  was 
a  younger  man  writing.  Messer  Orso  Quirino 
looked  to  Ranieri  in  the  same  impatient  and 
peremptory  manner ;  and  the  stillness  of  the 
room,  the  strangeness  of  his  enterprise,  again 
oppressed  his  heart  with  dismay.  Cecco  placed 
Jaeopo  before  the  governor,  who  exclaimed, 
"Well,  is  this  the  prisoner?" 

"Ay,  my  lord,  this  is  the  man." 

"What  is  his  namel" 

"  Why,  iMesser  Jaeopo  ;  but  more  I  know  not. 
This  young  gentleman  can  tell  you." 

Quirino  looked  to  Ranieri ;  but  his  tongue 
cleaved  to  his  mouth.  His  father,  who  kept 
his  eye  averted  from  him,  hut  guessed  from  his 
silence  that  he  could  not  answer,  said  in  a  firm 
and  cheerful  voice,  "  My  name  is  Jaeopo  Ar- 
duino.     Of  what  am  I  accused  1" 

The  governor  leaned  over  to  the  iTian  who 
was  writing,  and  after  a  brief  whispering,  said, 
"Jaeopo  Arduino,  you  are  accused  of  treason 
to  the  state,  being  one  of  those  who  engaged 
in  a  conspiracy  at  the  house  of  la  Gobba  to 
poison  the  waters  of  Venice." 

"  It  is  a  fal.se  accusation,"  answered  Jaeopo. 

"Will  you  prove  it  false." 

"  Not  yet  But  time  will  help  me  to  the 
witnes.ses  I  want." 

"It  has  been  proved  that  you  were  in  con- 
ference with  the  principa'  enemy  of  Venice  just 


before  the  conspiracy — with  Messer  Francescc 
Carrara  of  Padua  ;  but  enough — I  fear  the  only 
doubt  is  whether  this  is  the  real  traitor.  How- 
do  you  know,  Cecco,  that  this  is  Messer  Jaeopo 
Arduino  1" 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  I  know  not ;  but  this  young 
gentleman  ought  to  know,  for  he- is  his  son." 

"  His  son  !"  cried  Quirino  ;  and  he  looked  in 
astonishment  at  the  two  who  sat  by  him.  Then 
turning  to  Ranieri,  he  said,  sternly — "Is  this 
gentleman,  your  father,  the  person  whom  you 
accuse  as  the  traitor  Jaeopo  Arduino  1" 

Ranieri  was  silent.  His  knees  shook,  and 
again  he  thought  that  to  confess  the  whole 
scheme  would  be  the  best.  Now  for  the  first 
time,  his  father  looked  at  him  gravely  and 
steadily,  and  with  a  peculiar  expression  that 
made  him  understand  that  he  was  to  persevere 
in  his  task.  To  gather  courage,  he  thought  of 
his  mother  and  sister,  and  their  need. 

The  voice  of  the  governor  again  struck  on 
his  ear.  "  Answer,  boy ;  is  this  the  man  you 
accuse  as  a  traitor  1" 

Ranieri  recovered  his  voice  :  "  It  is  Jaeopo 
Arduino." 

"The  reason,"  said  Jaeopo,  "that  Messer  Orso 
Quirino  does  not  remember  the  host  that  had 
the  honor  to  entertain  him  soon  after  he  was 
married  is,  not  only  that  the  entertainment  was 
so  humble,  but  that  time  and  misfortune  have 
altered  this  face  so  that  even  those  of  my  own 
blood  have  forgotten  it." 

The  governor  looked  at  the  prisoner  with 
compassion  ;  and  in  a  milder  voice  he  said, 
"  Let  him  be  removed.  He  shall  be  examined 
hereafter." 

Jaeopo  turned  once  more  to  his  son  :  he  had 
not  yet  had  the  reward.  Ranieri  would  not 
sufTer  his  father  to  be  sent  to  his  prison  with- 
out knowing  that  his  purpose  had  been  answer- 
ed ;  and  he  said,  hastily — "  My  lord,  there  was 
a  reward  promised  when  the  prisoner  should  be 
secured." 

The  governor  stared  at  the  youth,  and  was 
about  to  speak  ;  but  checking  himself,  he  turned 
to  the  secretary,  and  asked  in  a  low  voice  what 
the  reward  was. 

"A  hundred  ducats  of  gold  for  Jaeopo  Ar- 
duino, my  lord." 

"  Let  the  hoy  be  paid,  then,  for  giving  up  his 
father  as  a  traitor  against  the  state.  Let  him 
be  paid  at  once,  that  he  may  go." 

The  secretary  went  into  another  room  ;  and 
presently  he  returned  with  a  small  bag,  which 
he  gave  to  Cecco,  and  he  gave  it  to  Ranieri. 

The  governor  cried  to  Ranieri — "  Count  the 
money,  boy." 

"My  lord,  I  make  no  doubt  that  it  is  right." 

"Count  your  wages,  young  man;  see  that 
you  have  your  due." 

Ranieri  emptied  the  bag  on  the  table.  All 
kept  deep  silence  as  he  counted  the  gold  ;  and 
he  so  longed  to  hear  some  sound  to  break  that 
odious  quiet,  that  his  thought  wandered,  and  he 
could  not  count. 

"  Count  it  before  him,  Cecco,"  said  the  ma- 
gistrate. 

Taking  pleasure  in  the  youth's  shame  and 
confusion,  the  serving  man  stepped  to  the  table 
and  did  as  he  was  bid,  saying  to  Ranieri,  in  an 
undertone,  as  ho  swept  tie  coin  into  the  bag — 
"  If  giving  up  a  father  is  worth  a  hundred  due- 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


61 


ats,  doth  not  he  that  helps  deserve  inter- 
estr' 

"  Keep  what  you  please,"  said  Ranieri. 

"Wliat  is  it  you  say,  Ceccol"  asked  the 
governor. 

"  Nothing,  my  lord,"  said  the  attendant, 
alarmed  at  the  angry  voice  provoked  by  his 
idle  joke. 

"  Nay,  I  almost  heard.  Take  not  one  coin 
of  his  money — give  it  him  all,  and  let  none  of 
it  stay  here,  nor  among  my  people.  Now, 
remove  the  prisoner,  and  send  away  the  in- 
former." 

One  took  charge  of  Jacopo,  while  Cecco  led 
forth  Ranieri.  When  they  were  in  the  hall, 
the  youth  again  took  some  gold  from  his  bag, 
and  said,  "  You  should  not  lose  your  fair  fee : 
take  this." 

"  No,  messer  spy,  yours  is  forbidden  money  ; 
our  master  wishes  you  to  keep  it  to  fatten 
yourself  withal  ;  so,  a  good  appetite  to  you." 

Ranieri  returned  the  ducats  into  the  bag  ; 
and  with  a  flushed  face  and  knitted  brow,  he 
took  his  way  home. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Ros.*.  had  just  finished  her  net.  A  large  part 
of  it  lay  in  a  heap,  while  a  portion  was  spread 
out  upon  the  floor,  and  raised  by  two  chairs,  so 
as  to  show  the  girl  the  work  of  her  hands.  She 
had  spread  out  all  that  she  had  done  since 
Alessandro  had  visited  her  after  his  so  long  ab- 
sence. For  some  hours  she  had  worked  hard, 
that  she  might  complete  her  task  before  dark  ; 
and  as  the  last  gleam  of  daylight  shone  upon 
the  fruit  of  her  industry,  her  grave  face  was 
not  devoid  of  satiRiaction.  The  symmetry  of 
the  lines  as  they  crossed  in  forming  the  meshes, 
the  newness  and  stoutness  of  the  cord,  the 
pleasure  that  it  would  give  to  old  Pierotto,  the 
use  that  he  would  make  of  it,  were  thoughts 
that  pleased  her.  How  the  green  and  blue 
waters  would  dance  and  play  in  and  out  of  the 
supple  trellis  !  How  the  silvery  scales  of  the 
fish  would  glisten  !  Poor  things  !  their  captivi- 
ty would  be  fatal  ;  yet  are  there  worse  sorrows 
than  fatal  thraldom.  Thus  much  work,  she  be- 
thought her,  had  been  done  in  her  solitude  :  the 
time  might  have  been  worse  employed.  Even 
life  that  is  not  as  we  wish  it,  need  not  be  fruit- 
less of  good  ;  and  if  not  fruitless  of  good,  it  is 
not  without  a  happiness.  Rosa  was  not  learn- 
ed in  books.  v.Alessandro  had  never  thought  ot 
leaching  her  ;  and  if  he  had,  he  would  not ;  be- 
cause not  only  he  took  a  pride  in  possessing 
that  which  was  the  more  valuable  to  himsell, 
the  fewer  about  him  that  shared  it,  but  he  took 
a  dciiglit  in  her  ignorance, — he  admired  hor  un- 
altered nature,  so  strong  a  contrast  to  tiie  vain 
knowledge  which  multiplied  his  desires  faster 
than  his  powers.  He  would  have  kept  her  for 
ever  a  spot  of  wild  luxuriant  nature  to  retreat 
to;  but  the  fool  forgot  that  he  could  not  weed 
his  own  speech,  least  guarded  when  with  her, 
of  the  Ihoughls  that  he  learned  in  books  ; 
and  moreover  he  taught  her  grief  He  showed 
her  how  to  think  ;  but  as  her  thoughts  were 
not  tinged  by  worldly  ambition,  as  they  arose 
from  nature,  his  from  art,  theirs  was  the  more 


vigorous  growth.  And  Teresa  had  given  a  ne« 
turn  to  them  —  a  new  dominion  of  thought. •' 
Strange,  that  as  she  mused  over  her  netting 
her  feelings  toward  him  had  grown  less  tender, 
and  at  the  same  time  less  bitter.  She  felt  less 
dependent  on  his  love.  She  judged  him.  As 
she  stood  gazing  on  her  work,  her  thought  wan- 
dering from  it  to  other  things,  a  knock  at  the 
door  startled  her ;  it  was  Alessandro's.  Unlike 
her  poor  neighbors,  Rosa  kept  her  door  fasten- 
ed. She  opened  it,  and  the  foster  brother  en- 
tered. As  before,  he  would  have  embraced 
her;  but  drawing  back,  she  held  out  her  hand 
to  him.  Without  seeming  to  notice  her  humor, 
he  obeyed,  and  kissed  her  hand  with  more  than 
his  wonted  devotion.  In  truth,  though  she 
meant  it  not,  her  new  distance  gave  to  her  a 
new  interest  in  his  eyes  ;  and  as  she  stood, 
drawn  up  to  her  full  height,  her  chest  expanded, 
her  arm  held  out  majestically,  and  a  slight 
sternness  mingling  with  the  pensive  sweetness 
of  her  face,  he  thought  that  in  all  Venice  there 
was  not,  nor  in  all  Italy,  so  noble  a  woman  to 
look  upon.  . ^ 

"  Rosa  mia,"  he  said,  "  I  have  hastened  here 
before  some  others  my  companions,  to  crave 
your  pardon  for  a  license  which  I  have  taken 
with  what  is  yours." 

"My  pardon,  Alessandro!  Have  I  anything 
that  is  not  rather  yours  than  mine^" 

"  Yes,  sweet ;  all  is  yours  more  than  mine,  if 
you  will  believe  it,  especially  this  house.  But 
it  will  not  lose  you  aught.  This  it  is — I  have 
occasion  to  meet  some  gentlemen,  and  one  of 
them  must  not  be  seen  to-night  by  any  that 
know  him  in  Venice ;  therefore  have  I  appoint- 
ed that  we  shall  meet  him  in  this  remote  part 
of  the  city." 

"  Here^in  this  housed" 

"  In  this  house.  You  are  not  offended, 
Rosal" 

"The  house  is  yours,  Alessandro;  hut  it 
was  not  well  done  to  bring  any  where  I  am, 

who  am  not  yet .     Can   you  not  meet   in 

this  part,  yet  in  another  house]" 

"  They  will  be  here  anon.  Moreover  my  life 
is  periled.  But  they  know  not  of  this  house, 
and  you  shall  not  be  seen,  Rosa.  Forgive  me, 
and  I  will  not  offend  again." 

"You  are  too  courteous.  But,  be  it  as  yo'.i 
will." 

"  You  are  angered  that  I  have  not  sooner 
again  paid  my  homage  to  you  ;  but  I  have  been 
away,  lady  mine,  and  in  the  midst  of  war  ami 
turmoil  ;  and  that  is  another  part  of  my  errand 
to  crave  your  forgiveness  also " 

Another  knock  at  the  door  was  the  welcome 
announcement  that  hi-s  friends  had  arrived. 
Rosa  hesitated,  and  looked  at  her  companion. 
He  pointed  for  her  to  leave  the  room.  She 
obeyed. 

As  he  opened  the  door,  four  men  passed  into 
the  room,  wrapped  in  large  cloaks,  wi.ih  their 
caps  drawn  much  over  their  eyes,  as  tiiough 
they  felt  the  chill  of  evening.  They  had  liitie 
chance  of  being  known  in  that  quarter  by  any 
who  would  question  tiiem  :  even  liie  gondolier 
who  bad  taken  them  up,  after  they  had  dis- 
missed a  boat  of  their  own.  neitlier  knew  them, 
nor  cared  to  wonder  what  brought  nobles  so  far 
among  the  poorer  people,  or  else  he  .'^(Mllcd  it 
in  his  mind  that  some  bright  ryts  ai;d  Vduihlui 


63 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


charms,  disguised  in  coarse  attire,  had  attracted 
Ihem.  As  they  entered  from  the  darkening 
night,  into  the  still  darker  room,  they  looked 
around  in  vain  to  see  who  was  there. 

"  You  are  dark  here,  Messer  Alessandro," 
said  the  strong  voice  of  Ser  Luigi  da  Molino.  the 
Avvogadore  del  Commune,  a  man  large  of  body 
»nd  limb,  with  an  insolent  and  over  bearing 
manner.  '•  Darkness  is  convenient  sometimes  ; 
nut  sometimes  it  is  too  convenient,  in  conceal- 
ing more  than  one  knows.  I  never  talk  in  the 
dark,  except  in  mine  own  house." 

"  You  shall  have  a  light,  Messer  Avvogadore, 
since  you  are  afraid  of  the  dark ;  but  in  truth, 
the  night  has  come  somewhat  suddenly  while  I 
awaited  you  alone." 

"  Nay.  Alessandro,"  cried  Ser  Pietro  di  Ber- 
nardo, whose  bright  gay  eyes  almost  shone  in 
the  feeble  shade  of  light  from  the  windows, — 
"there  are  more  who  dislike  dark  than  those 
who  fear  it.  If  now  we  had  our  fair  friends 
here,  it  might  be  pleasant ;  but  it  will  be  dull 
work  not  to  see  Messer  Luigi's  portentous 
countenance  while  he  is  plotting  away  our  re- 
public  " 

"  Hush,"  interrupted  Marino  Barbarigo,  a 
chief  of  the  Forty  ;  "did  you  learn  that  careless 
speech  in  the  grand  council,  amico  mioT' 

"Why,  the  grand  council  has  its  varieties 
of  eloquence,  and  mine  is  of  the  playful  kind, 
you  know,  Barbarigo  ;  as  when  I  asked  what 
the  Ten  had  done  with  la  Gobba,  and  recom- 
mended, for  our  credit,  that  you  and  Molino 
should  be  appointed  to  see  her  quartered.  I 
thought  it  would  shield  you  from  suspicion  of 
being  a  conspirator  to  poison  the  wells.  You 
quite  overreached  me  there  ;  for  I  never  heard 
of  the  plot  till  I  saw  that  heroic  Englishman, 
whom  we  all  love  so  well,  defending  the  lady 
like  a  true  knight ;  only  knights  do  not  usually 
straddle  over  their  ladies  while  they  defend 
them.  I  suppose  I  was  too  heedless  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  that  project  V 

"  Silence,  Messer  Pietro,"  said  Molino,  angri- 
ly, "here  are  we  in  the  dark,  and  know  not 
who  may  hear  you  ;  yet  you  talk  of  these  wick- 
ednesses and  plots  almost  in  a  manner  to  plant 
norrible  suspicions  of  the  illustrious  gentlemen 
with  us  in  the  breasts  of  any  that  may  overhear 
your  idle  speech." 

Pietro  di  Bernardo  laughed  aloud,  and  said, 
"  Hasten,  good  Alessandro,  for  a  light,  or  Mes- 
ser Luigi  will  die  with  fear  of  eaves-droppers — 
or  ghosts." 

"You  are  too  incautious,  Messer  Pietro," 
said  Barbarigo.  "  Why  can  you  not  imitate  the 
silence  of  your  excellent  brother  here,  Messer 
Niccolo  1  He  has  not  spoken  a  word  since  we 
left  my  house.  But  I  think  I  heard  Messer 
Alessandro  go  for  a  light  when  the  Avvogadore 
first  spoke." 

"  Niccolo  is  silent,"  said  the  incorrigible 
Pietro,  "  because  you  know  he  is  in  love  with 
your  daughter ;  and  as  she  is  very  imperious 
and  very  young,  it  is  most  difficult  for  him  to 
contrive  what  to  say  that  shall  be  magnificent 
enough  to  satisfy  her,  and  yet  that  her  years 
may  understand.  I  can  vouch  for  it  that  he 
studies  night  and  day.  I  know  he  will  be  glad 
when  his  courtship  comes  to  the  fondling  stage, 
because  then  there  will  not  be  so  much  fine 
speaking  to  do." 


"  Silence  your  idle  tongue,"  muttered  his 
brother,  "  or  we  will  thrust  you  out." 

"Aye,  to  alarm  the  neighborhood  !  But  your 
fears  may  be  calmed,  Messer  Avvogadore,  for 
here  comes  Alessandro  with  the  light.  How 
it  shows  out  his  mighty  countenance  in  the  dark. 
One  of  us  was  born  to  hold  Venice  in  his  grasp  ; 
and  if  Messer  Avvogadore  drops  it,  in  his  fear 
of  goblins,  I  say  that  yon  Alessandro  is  the  man. 
Does  he  not  show  the  very  model  of  a  conspira- 
tor 1" 

"  Cease  your  idle  talk  of  conspiracies,"  said 
Molino,  "  or  I  will  take  my  leave  " 

"Aye,  cease,"  subjoined  Barbarigo.  "  How- 
ever," he  added,  turning  to  Molino,  "all  Pietro's 
indiscretions  are  committed  very  sagely  in  se- 
cret ;  for  none  is  more  discreet  abroad." 

"Thanks,  good  friend.  My  imprudence  is 
not  so  dangerous  as  Messer  Luigi's  tremendous 
silence  and  suspicious  frown.  If  there  is  a  man 
in  Venice  that  would  be  picked  out  by  guess  as 
a  conspirator,  it  is  Luigi  da  Molino." 

"  Cease  this,  Bernardo,"  cried  Molino,  feeling 
for  his  sword,  "or  I  will  silence  you  perforce." 

"  0  Messer  Alessandro,  defend  me  !"  exclaim- 
ed the  threatened  man  ;  "  here  is  Messer  Luigi 
da  Molino,  Avvogadore  del  Commune,  going  to 
kill  me  outright  for  talking  faster  than  he  thinks 
suitable  to  this  your  hall,  with  one  small  lamp 
in  it,  and  some  doubt  of  listeners  or  devils  in  the 
corners !" 

"  Peace,  my  noble  friends,"  said  the  foster 
brother,  gravely ;  "  there  is  none  in  this  house 
to  interrupt  us,  and  as  for  danger,  you  may  talk 
as  you  list ;  but  our  time  is  precious.  Sit  you 
here,  Messer  Barbarigo,  president  of  this  coun- 
cil for  the  welfare  of  our  beloved  Venice  ;  your 
authority  will  moderate  our  gay  friend." 

"Aye  will  it.  Now  does  that  light  disap- 
point me  of  one  amusement  that  we  might  haye 
had,  to  hear  each  other  break  his  shins  over  the 
furniture  in  the  dark.  But  let  us  leave  play, 
now  that  our  Master  Alessandro  bids."  And 
the  careless  councillor  took  his  seat  at  the  table 
with  the  rest. 

When  they  were  seated,  Barbarigo  turned  to 
Molino,  and  said,  "  You  already  know  that  we 
have  met  to  receive  some  advice  from  our  friend 
Messer  Alessandro  da  Padova.  The  ambitious 
dotard  who  now  unhappily  rules  in  our  councils, 
with  a  power  never  meant  to  be  entrusted  to 
the  chief  servant  of  the  grand  council,  persists, 
in  spite  of  the  ruin  that  he  has  actually  brought 
upon  Venice,  in  waging  a  cruel  and  profitless 
war  on  its  best  ally,  the  Lord  of  Padua.  But 
he  and  his  faction  will  be  defeated.  Messer 
Alessandro  has  just  returned  from  Chiozza " 

"  From  Chiozza !"  exclaimed  Pietro  di  Ber- 
nardo. 

"  From  Malamocco,"  said  Alessandro,"  which 
is  almost  the  same  thing." 

"  True,"  continued  Barbarigo,  "  from  Mala- 
mocco ;  and  he  has  learned  how  this  unjust  and 
injurious  war  may  be  ended."  He  turned  to 
Alessandro,  who  took  up  the  discourse. 

"  I  need  not  say,  that  were  Andrea  Contarini 
defeated,  it  would  be  a  triumph  for  Venice.  The 
way  now  seems  clear.  In  ten  days  from  this 
time  the  allies  of  Carrara  will  make  a  combined 
attack  on  the  port  of  Venice.  When  that  is 
once  in  their  possession,  nothing  can  hinder 
Iheir  entrance  into  the  city,  to  surrender  ita 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


63 


possession  to  those  who  will  govern  it  for  its 
own  sake.  There  is  but  one  difficulty  in  the 
way — tlie  inner  barricade.  I  know  that  the 
captain  of  one  cocca  is  of  our  party  ;  but  the 
other  is  Galluzzi ;  to  attempt  his  failh  would  be 
madness  ;  and  he  will  tight  to  the  last.  One 
of  us  must  contrive  to  get  some  other  man  ap- 
pointed, within  ilie  ten  days.  Has  not  Ser  Pie- 
tro  di  Bernardo  claim  to  it,  if  he  choose  to  so- 
licit so  poor  a  post !" 

"  Surely,"  said  Barbarigo. 

"And  all  the  more  willing  to  have  it,"  cried 
Pietro,  "in  that  no  fighting  is  likely.  Messer 
Alessandro  forgets  the  outer  barricade  at  the 
entrance  of  the  port." 

"Alessandro  seldom  forgets,"  said  the  foster 
brother,  with  a  grave  smile  ;  "and  this  council 
should  know,  that  when  Messer  Marco  Morosi- 
ni  was  appointed  to  superintend  the  works,  he 
was  convinced  that  the  best  economy  of  his  re- 
sources would  be  to  make  those  posts  which 
forbad  assault  by  the  least  show  of  strength,  in 
reality  stronger  than  those  which  were  made  to 
look  impregnable."  A  low  laugh  ran  round  the 
table  ;  and  the  four  nobles  looked  a  demand  for 
clearer  explanation.  "  In  fact,  though  timbers 
and  chains  were  piled  up  most  at  the  entrance 
of  this  port,  every  other  barricade  is  stronger  ; 
because  Messer  Marco  knew  that  the  Genoese 
would  believe  it  to  be  as  strong  as  it  looked. 
And  so  of  course  they  did,  until  they  learned 
otherwise.  But  that  is  not  all.  One  part  of 
the  barricade  is  really  strong  :  it  is  the  three 
chains  which  fasten  the  outward  beams  to  each 
side.  That  part  is  guarded  carefully ;  but  on 
the  tenth  day,  the  guard  will " 

A  low  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  him. 
He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  admitted  a  stout, 
square-built  man,  wrapped  in  a  cloak.  His 
heavy  tread  caused  a  slight  jingle,  which  show- 
ed that  he  was  clothed  in  mail ;  though  the 
small  steel  cap  on  his  head  was  disguised  with 
a  velvet  hood.  The  door  having  been  care- 
fully closed,  he  approached  the  table. 

"  Lionardo  Morositii !"  exclaimed  the  four. 

"The  same,  sirs,"  answered  the  man  him- 
self, as  he  disengaged  himself  from  his  cloak, 
and  took  a  chair  set  for  him  by  Alessandro. 
"Your  poor  servant,  and  none  other;  though 
he  must  not  be  seen  in  Venice  till  the  morrow." 

"  But,"  said  Pietro  di  Bernardo,  "  we  thought 
that  you  were  wounded  and  taken  prisoner  at 
Chiozza." 

"Wounded,  no  ;  taken  prisoner,  yes  ;  and  a 
prisoner  I  have  been  ever  since.  At  first  I  was 
in  prison  with  the  rest ;  but  they  put  me  into  a 
separate  cell ;  I  suppose  that  it  might  be  more 
severe,"  lie  added  with  a  smile. 

"  Aye,"  said  Pietro  ;  "  that  was  because  you 
killed  Carrara's  man — Marco  the  Florentine  : 
that  was  a  great  mistake." 

"Hush  :  who  says  that  I  killed  Marco  1  Had 
he  not  ciianced  to  be  mortally  wounded  by  some 
one,  indeed,  he  would  have  been  brpught  back, 
and  perhairs  put  to  the  question  by  Emo  ;  and  it 
was  very  forluiiale  lor  all  of  us  that  he  died — 
for  Carrara  himself  But  not  a  word  did  any 
one  say  to  Carrara  that  I  had  killed  him." 

"  Truly  no,"  observed  Alessandro  ;  "  the  less 
said  of  such  things  the  belter.  We  are  not 
judges,  and  all  may  make  mistakes  in  the  mo- 
ment of  diHicultv  " 


"Messer  Alessandro  is  ever  the  discreetest," 
said  Pietro.  "  But  how,  Messer  Lionardo,  if 
you  were  kept  so  close,  are  you  here  V 

"  Aye,  close  indeed  ;  for  I  was  not  allowed 
to  stir  out  of  the  lodging  that  was  provided  for 
me,  lest  I  should  be  seen  in  the  town.  How- 
ever, I  thought  it  most  advisable  for  me  to  es- 
cape;  and  so  I  just  came  away,  travelling  by 
land,  lest  I  should  be  seen  crossing  the  lagoon." 

"  Let  us  not,"  interposed  Alessandro,  "  in- 
quire how  Messer  Lionardo  came,  but  only  re- 
joice that  he  is  here,  and  remember  that  none 
of  us  must  have  seen  him  in  Venice  till  to- 
morrow morning." 

"Good,"  cried  Molino,  solemnly.  "But  of 
course  Messer  Lionardo  Morosini  came  to  tell 
us  something." 

"  I  came  to  tell  you,  with  what  speed  I  may, 
that  Roberto  da  Recanati  has  arrived  at  Lido, 
having  joined  the  Venetian  forces." 

"  We  knew  as  much  before,"  answered  Moli- 
no ;  "  we  in  Venice  hear  things  as  soon  as  pris- 
oners in  Chiozza." 

"  Nay,  Messer  Avvogadore,  you  ever  hear 
things  at  the  properest  time :  you  heard  that 
the  Recanati  had  arrived,  and  now  you  should 
hear  how  he  arrived.  He  was  engaged  by  the 
Lord  of  Padua,  who  offered  him  higher  pay 
than  the  senate  ;  but  somehow  he  suddenly  al- 
tered his  mind.  He  has  joined  Venice,  and  I 
suppose  will  not  lose  by  the  bargain.  But  far- 
ther— some  of  his  men  are  appointed  to  guard 
the  outer  barricades  of  the  port  of  Venice  on  the 
tenth  day  from  this,  and  for  six  days  longer. 
Do  you  understand  now — for  I  suppose  that 
Messer  Alessandro  has  explained  to  you  the 
plani" 

"  'Tis  well,"  cried  Barbarigo.  "  Truly  are 
there  but  two  Carraras — one  now  in  Chiozza, 
and  the  other  here  at  this  table,  our  good  Ales- 
sandro. All  this  then  understood,  nothing  re- 
mains but  to  determine  how  our  forces  shall  be 
disposed  for  the  enterprise." 

Into  the  details  of  their  counsel  it  were  need- 
less to  enter.  The  dawn  disturbed  them  in 
their  discourse,  and  they  hastily  d  ispersed,  again 
carefully  muffling  themselves  as  they  went  forth 
in  the  still  gloomy  streets. 

Left  alone,  Alessandro  again  sat  down  at  the 
table,  and  leaning  his  head  against  his  clenched 
hand,  assumed  the  posture  of  one  who  busiee 
himself  with  thinking  of  future  action  while  he 
waits.  He  had  not  long  remained  so,  ere  be 
heard  the  cautious  step  of  Rosa,  who  peeped 
into  the  room,  and  seeing  him  alone,  entered. 
He  did  not  stir  till  she  spoke. 

"I  thought  that  you  had  gone  with  the 
others." 

"  No,  Rosa,  I  am  here  still  ;  but  I  will  not 
trouble  you  long.  Some  few  things,  however, 
I  had  to  say  before  I  go  ;  for  when  I  leave 
this  house  I  cannot  tell  when  I  may  return,  if 
ever."  There  was  a  pause.  Had  he  looked, 
he  would  have  seen  that  Rosa  turned  pa.le.  He 
expected  her  to  answer,  but  she  remained  silent. 
"Much  is  to  be  done  in  these  few  days,  Rosa 
mia  ;  a  great  turn  in  my  fate,  and  yours,  may 
be  at  hand  ;  and  you  will  forgive  me  if  absent, 
when  you  think  that  dangers  and  tro'ibles  alone 
keep  me  so." 

"  Pardon  is  easy,  Alessandro.  I  v  i'i  ororaiae 
it  you  beforehand.'' 


64 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


••  I  am  assured  that  you  will,"  he  answered 
With  sometliing  of  a  sneer,  "since  you  speak  of 
my  offence  so  ealinly  beforehand.  Have  you 
seen  Teresa  Arduino — the  girl  that  has  enam- 
ored Sebastian  1" 

"  1  iiave." 

"  Well  !     Did  you  explain  to  her  how  Sebas- 
lian  might  join  our  league  to  his  own  great  glo- 
rv  and  honor!" 
'"I  did." 

"And  she — " 

"  What  if  she  consented  1" 

"  Consented  !  Rosa  mia,"  cried  Alessandro, 
starting  from  his  seat,  "say  that  she  consented 
and  ask  me  what  you  will — I  can  refuse  nothing. 
Rosa,"  he  continued,  his  eyes  glistening  under 
his  tightly  contracted  brow,  while  his  lips  smiled 
with  pleasure,  "  that  hoy  could  command  all  I 
want.  He  has  powers  such  as  few  men  have 
in  Venice.  He  may  command  his  father's  high 
station  ;  and  in  him  I  seem  to  see  myself  born 
1(1  the  honors  of  the  blood  that  is  called  debased 
in  me.  Yes,  let  me  possess  Sebastian  Moro- 
sini,  and  I  can  draw  on  Carrara  with  another 
idly — I  can  even,  if  it  so  please  me,  laugh  heed- 
less and  independent  of  Carrara.  Marco  Moro- 
siiii,  from  his  own  weakness,  continually  fails 
in  mind  ;  Sebastian  were  another  kind  of  tool. 
Vet  is  he  young,  and  this  girl's  manner  has  so 
subdued  him,  that  her  will  is  law  to  him.  Of 
ail  that  have  ever  served  me,  Rosa,  you  have 
done  best." 

"  How  will  this  so  serve  you,  Alessandro  1  I 
am  dull ;  tell  m.e  how." 

"  Why  ihi-s  way,  sweetest.  Sebastian  is 
rising  to  be  accounted  one  of  the  discreetest  of 
the  young  nobles  in  Venice — far  beyond  his 
years.  He  enjoys  the  full  confidence,  already, 
of  the  doge;  nay,  his  counsel  has  been  echoed 
by  the  doge  in  the  senate,  and  acted  upon  by 
the  senate.  He  is  above  suspicion — his  fame 
is  made — his  intellect  masters  those  that  en- 
counter it — and  this  while  yet  he  is  young  and 
passionate.  Could  I  but  have  such  an  instru- 
ment to  my  will,  bastard  as  I  am,  I  should  not 
need  to  he  a  servant  to  Carrara,  hut  rather 
ally." 

"But  you  would  use  this  Sebastian  in  your 
enterprise  with  Carrara?" 

"Surely,  Rosa:  you  know,  carina,  that  I 
conceal  nouglit  from  you.  You  have  my  life  in 
ymir  hands  ;  and  if  ynu  will  go  now  to  the  Pal- 
a-je  at  St.  Mark's,  and  tell  what  you  know,  you 
can  command  my  death  ere  that  rising  sun 
sinks  in  the  sea." 

"  You  are  safe  for  me,  Alessandro.  But  tell 
me — if  Sebastian  did  your  behests,  he  would 
use  the  good  fame  he  hath,  to  do  the  very  op- 
posite of  those  deeds  by  which  he  earned  if!" 

"Truly;  or  raiiier  not  the  opposite,  for  it 
would  stdl  bp  R-  l':e  good  of  Ven'ce-  but  in 
sornfc  aiTt  It  would  bo  the  opposite." 

"And  it  is  to  force  him  into  that,  that  you 
would  yse  his  love  for  Teresa  Arduino  1" 

"  It  is  so.  What  is  in  your  head  now,  foolish 
girl  1  His  love  would  ncrt  alter ;  his  love  would 
remain  as  it  is,  just  the  same — no  less.  You 
look  as  if  you  had  more  to  tell.  Did  she  say 
when  or  how  she  would  signify  her  will  to  the 
gallant  1  What  ails  you,  Rosa,  that  you  keep 
dumb,  and  look  so  strange!" 

"What  if  she  did  not  consent  1" 


Alessandro,  unused  to  alter  in  color,  turned 
deadly  pale.  He  looked  at  Rosa  as  if  he  under- 
stood her  not.  "  Not  consent !  but  wherefore 
ask  '  What  if  she  did  not  consent,'  when  you 
say  she  didi" 

"I  ask  you,  what  if  she  did  not  consent  1  It 
is  my  humor  to  know." 

"  It  is  a  foolish  and  a  dangerous  humor,  Rosa. 
By  so  much  as  I  rejoice  to  hear  that  she  did 
consent,  so  much  should  I — I  will  not  for  your 
idle  humor  unveil  anything  so  horrid  as  what  1 
would  do  if  she  did  not." 

"You  threaten  yourself,  Alessandro,  with 
what  I  could  do  if  I  were  to  proclaim  you,  and  i 
regard  it  not ;  you  tlireaten  me  now,  and  I  re- 
gard it  as  little.  See  here."  She  drew  from 
her  bosom  a  knife,  which  she  unsheathed. 
"This  I  keep  that  no  rival  of  Alessandro  may 
be  too  bold  ;  take  it — wo  are  alone,  you  can  use 
it  as  you  will." 

He  took  it,  his  troubled  eye  darkening  as  he 
grasped  it,  his  thumb  firmly  resting  on  the  tip 
end  of  the  handle.  "Rosa,  you  are  safe  for 
me.  I  do  not  put  my  life  in  your  hands  to  play 
at  morra  with  you  for  death.  We  are  away 
from  the  world — I  a  bastard,  with  no  rights  ; 
you  mine,  body  and  heart  ;  but  not  more  mine 
than  I  am  yours.  When  I  say  that  I  love  you, 
I  say  what  is  ;  and  let  iny  great  love  suffice  you, 
without  wishing  to  have  in  me  what  I  am  not: 
I  am  of  no  worth  to  you  as  a  wedded  husband 
— I  am  no  lord  ;  all  that  we  have  must  be  in 
spite  of  the  world.  I  do  suspect  that  you  have 
some  scheme  to  tame  me.  13etter  kill  me  out- 
right, than  take  to  your  arms  a  mere  worthless 
lackey,  without  power  or  name.  You  are  safe. 
But  I  say,"  he  cried,  with  a  louder  voice,  his 
pale  cheek  trembling  with  rage,  "that  if  my 
will  be  thwarted,  those  who  who  withstand  it 
shall  as  little  resist  destruction  as  this  wood 
can  resist  my  arm."  And  as  ho  spoke  he 
raised  his  hand,  dashing  the  knife  into  the  table. 
It  broke  not  nor  bent  against  the  massive  and 
tough-grained  slab;  but  such  was  the  strength 
and  just  aim  of  the  blow,  that  the  blade  passed 
clean  through,  the  point  showing  on  the  other 
side,  and  the  handle  trembling  as  the  echo  of 
the   crash  vibrated  in  the  roof. 

Rosa's  voice  was  calm  and  deep — "There 
are  things  which  strength  cannot  destroy, 
Alessandro — Teresa  did  not  consent." 

"  Let  them  perish  then  !" 

"  No,  nor  let  them  perish  ;  ra!her  will  you 
perish.  You  have  said,  Alessandro  mio,  that 
we  are  away  from  the  world  ;  but  it  is  not  so. 
Would  I  could  talk  as  you  do,  and  I  would 
show  you  how  it  is  that  you  are  a  beggar  to 
the  world,  while  you  might  retire  to  another 
and  a  better  with  none  to  reign  but  you.  You 
say  you  love  me.  I  am  baffled,  Alessandro  ; 
for  I  believe  you,  and  I  do  not.  Yet  if  you 
love,  why  does  that  not  suffice  you  1  And  why 
will  you  force  love,  that  lives  only  on  truth, 
serve  to  make  traitors  for  your  use!  Alessan- 
dro, this  Teresa  is  too  strong  for  you." 

"  We  shall  see." 

"Ay,  we  shall  see.  I  know  you  may  kill 
her,  as  easiiy  as  me.  Do  so,  and  I  follow 
her." 

"  What  folly  is  this,  Rosa  V 

"  Slay,  I  have  not  told  you  all.  I  did  help  to 
strengthen  her  resolve." 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


65 


"  You  ]  Fool,  fool  that  I  was,  to  send  one 
love-sick  girl  to  another,  when  I  was  thinking 
only  of  a  country  and  its  gain  and  loss." 

"  Therefore,  revenge  yourself  on  me.  You  it 
was  that  made  me  do  it.  You  had  taught  me 
to  doubt  all — life,  love,  everything.  You  made 
me  an  instrument  to  undo  love  with  falsehood. 
I  made  good  what  you  would  have  destroyed  ; 
;ind  in  Teresa,  in  myself,  truth  lives  on  though 
you  abandon  it." 

"  Rosa,  you  have  half-learned  these  things  of 
me,  and  talk  like  one  who  has  gone  mad  with 
the  smell  of  fantastic  books  that  you  cannot 
read.  Be  content ;  you  have  done  your  worst 
to  defeat  me,  and  I  shall  suffer.     Farewell." 

"Nay,  I  am  not  content.  I  cannot  say  fare- 
well when  you  depart  with  revenge  upon  your 
lips  of  my  causing.  Believe  me,  I  speak  truly 
when  I  say  that  my  life  shall  hang  on  your  re- 
venge.    By  that  faith  will  I  cling." 

"  I  spoke  wildly.  You  know  not  how  you 
have  troubled  me." 

"Would  it  were  not  so,  Alessandro.  But  in 
this  I  have  more  than  common  care,  since  it  is 
I  who  have  moved  you.  You  must  forbear  your 
revenge,  Alessandro,  for  my  sake." 

"  Be  it  as  you  will,  lady  mine.  You  shall  rue 
no  revenge  of  your  making.  Will  that  content 
you  T  and  what  shall  be  my  guerdon  for  casting 
my  fortunes  at  your  feet  to  trample  on  at  your 
humorr' 

Ilosa  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss  ;  but  ere  he 
relinquished  it,  it  returned  his  pressure.  He 
looked  at  her  for  an  instant  as  he  held  the  open 
door  in  his  hand.  Never  had  her  face  seemed 
nobler  ;  yet  never  had  he  so  little  understood  it. 
He  could  see  men's  characters  at  a  glance  ;  yet 
1  he  young  peasant-girl  whom  he  had  shut  out 
from  the  world,  the  creature  of  his  will,  was  a 
riddle  that  he  could  not  solve  !  Rosa  closed 
the  door  upon  the  audacious  man  who  had 
joined  their  fate  before  she  knew  him.  She 
went  to  the  table  in  which  her  knife  was  stick- 
ing, and  grasped  the  hilt.  Her  powerful  arm 
failed  to  stir  it.  She  took  a  piece  of  wood  that 
lay  upon  the  hearth,  and  struck  the  knife  a  few 
blows  on  the  back  and  front  of  the  handle,  so 
that  the  sharp  steel,  swaying  backwards  and 
forwards  cut  for  itself  a  wider  and  looser  open- 
ing in  the  wood,  and  then  she  drew  it  out  easily. 
She  looked  at  it :  so  true  had  been  the  blow, 
that  the  blade  was  as  straight  as  ever.  But 
the  mark  on  the  table  was  passed  all  mending. 
That  which  is  firm,  she  thought,  being  wounded, 
can  never  close  and  be  whole  again.  She 
sheathed  the  knife,  and  returned  it  to  her  bo- 
som ;  and  then  she  replaced  the  cliairs  as  they 
had  been  before  they  were  disturbed  by  the  in- 
iruders  of  the  night ;  again  di.s'posing  the  net  so 
Itiat  her  old  friend  might  best  see  its  make  when 
Le  should  pay  her  his  early  visit. 


CHAPTER  XXXr. 

Teresa's  fear  that  her  unsleaiiy  father  would 
not  stay  long  to  protect  his  family  was  realized 
when  llauieii  returned  alone,  and,  with  troubled 
eye,  avoided  her  (luestioning.  The  better  to 
conceal  the  truth  from  her,  lie  told  her  that  her 
father  had  undertaken  an  enterprise  which  was 


secret,  but  would  bring  hijn  profit ;  that  he  had 
already  gained  some  money  ;  and  that  Ranieri 
would  know  how  to  get  more.  And  he  gave 
her  ten  pieces  of  gold  :  concealing  the  rest  on  a 
broad  cornice  over  the  door  in  his  own  sleeping 
room.  'J'eresa  too  well  knew  her  father's  wont, 
to  be  surprised  either  at  the  suddenness  or  se- 
crecy of  his  new  enterprise  ;  and  she  would  not 
make  her  brother  disclose  what  their  lather  had 
told  him  to  keep  secret.  Though  stie  mistrust- 
ed, therefore,  she  sought  to  know  no  more ;  and 
Bianca  was  now  ever  content  to  do  as  Teresa 
thought  fit.  Yet  as  time  passed  on,  the  anxious 
girl  watched  her  brother's  altered  demeanor 
with  uneasiness.  Though  their  actual  want  was 
far  less  than  it  had  been,  his  youtliful  gayety, 
which  had  never  failed  before,  was  quite  gone 
He  would  scarcely  eat  a  mouthful  of  loud,  say- 
ing that  in  the  dearth  he  wished  to  save  all  that 
he  could  for  their  mother ;  so  that  he  began  to 
waste  away.  And  when  she  urged  him  to  share 
their  bread,  he  turned  from  it  with  such  loathing, 
eating  a  morsel  just  to  satisfy  her,  that  she  sus- 
pected verily  that  there  was  more  in  his  dislike 
than  mere  love  of  saving  it  for  his  mother.  So 
that  ever  and  ever  she  was  pres.sing  hira  to  say 
what  it  was  that  occasioned  his  trouble  and 
dislike  of  the  food. 

One  day  when  he  had  laid  down,  scarcely 
tasted,  some  wine  that  she  had  forced  him  to 
take,  she  said,  "  How  is  it,  Ranieri,  that  you 
not  only  leave  this  food,  but  look  at  it  with  such 
hate  !  If  it  is  not  fit  for  you  to  take,  neither  can 
it  be  for  me,  if  I, knew  the  reason."  And  she 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  him. 

He  started  up  from  his  chair,  crying,  "  Teresa, 
I  can  bear  this  no  longer.  You  mistake — it  is 
right  for  you  to  eat  what  I  cannot.  Now,  listen 
to  me,  sister  mine.  1  have  never  but  once  done 
what  I  knew  you  would  dislike,  and  once  more 
I  must  do  so.  Therefore,  teU  me  now  that  you 
will  pardon  me  that  I  may  at  least  carry  that 
with  me."' 

"  What  mean  you,  Ranieri  V  exclaimed  his 
sister,  astonished  at  his  passionate  answer. 

"Never  mind  my  meaning — say  that  you  par- 
don me.  Say  it,  Teresa,  if  you  would  have  me 
less  miserable." 

"  I  do,  Ranieri ;  but  what  strange  intent  pos- 
sesses you  ?" 

Ranieri  embraced  her  :  and  then  still  holding 
her  in  his  arms,  he  went  on — "  Now,  hear  what 
I  say  to  you.  The  money  which  I  told  you  1 
should  fetch,  I  have  already — all  of  it  except  two 
pieces,  that  I  have  taken.  Your  use  will  bless 
It.  It  is  on  the  cornice  over  my  door.  U  will 
last  some  time  ;  and  then  I  will  be  with  you 
again.  Farewell."  And  suddenly  releasing'her 
from  his  arms,  he  rushed  from  the  room. 

"  Ranieri — llanieri !"  cried  Teresa  ;  but  he 
was  gone.  She  followed  hinj  to  the  anle-room, 
but  he  had  already  left  it ;  and  as  slie  rushed  to 
tiie  stairs,  she  heard  the  door  of  the  hou.se  close, 
and  knew  that  he  had  quite  departed.  Her  sense 
was  bewildered  with  this  new  abandonment, 
As  if  fancying  that  it  would  tell  her  soiuellimg, 
she  repaired  to  his  cliaraber  to  find  tlie  money 
She  counted  eighty-eight  pieces;  which,  wiih 
the  two  that  Ranieri  had  and  the  ten  that  he 
liad  given  to  her^  made  a  hundred  ;  A  terrible 
suspicion  cast  a  shadow  on  her  soul  !  l)ut  ^ht; 
chased  it  away.  Nothing  but  that  gold  reiiiaine  1 


66 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


forlier  mother's  sustenance,  and  should  s'le  avow 
to  herselt"  hefore  she  knew  it  that  I  he  gold  could 
not  be  used  !  Again,  on  the  thought  of  her 
naother,  -she  trembled  at  the  fear  lest  slie  should 
not  be  able  to  conceal  Ilanieri's  absence  till  his 
return,  tor  which  she  still  hoped.  And  now  she 
blamed  herself  for  having  scared  away  their  only 
guard. 

Bianca's  very  helplessness  made  it  easier  for 
Teresa  to  turn  asttle  her  questions  until  night 
approached.  But  when  it  became  dark,  and  the 
sick  woman  saw  not  her  husband,  slie  looked 
still  closer  in  Teresa's  face.  She  asked  where 
he  was  ]  Teresa  saw  that  she  suspected,  and 
told  her  that  he  had  gone  upon  some  secret  en- 
terpise,  and  that  he  had  already  sent  them  some 
money.  Bianca  sank  back  upon  her  pillow  in 
silence.  She  thought  no  farther  but  that  Jacopo 
had  gone  ;  and  she  asked  no  more.  So  passed 
that  night ;  and  next  day  when  she  .saw  not  her 
son,  she  asked,  "And  has  Ranieri  gone  tool" 
Teresa  rejoiced  that  she  had  put  no  closer 
question,  and  answered  "Yes."  Bianca's  face 
turned  still  paler,  and  she  pressed  Teresa's 
hand,  as  if  to  thank  her  for  that  she  did  not 
abandon  her  mother.  Now  that  Teresa  sus- 
pected the  source  from  whence  the  money  had 
come  to  them,  she  too  loathed  her  food  as  Ila- 
nieri  had  done ;  but  she  took  almost  the  greater 
pleasure  in  buying  for  her  mother  those  dainties 
which  would  provoke  her  appetite  and  restore 
her  strength.  Bianca  attributed  the  girl's  me- 
lancholy to  their  forlorn  condition,  and  did  the 
best  to  console  her  with  hopes  of  Sebastian's 
return.  Alas,  the  bedridden  'woman  scarcely 
knew  the  extremity  of  Venice,  or  how  Sebastian 
was  bound  to  his  post.  Teresa's  worst  fears, 
however,  arose  when  she  was  obliged  to  leave 
her  mother  alone  in  the  house,  whde  she  went 
to  buy  the  necessary  things.  She  dreaded  to 
hire  an  attendant,  lest  the  money  should  not 
last  out  their  time  of  need  ;  and  because  of  her 
suspicions,  not  liking  to  spend  it  in  anything  hut 
her  mother's  sustenance  •,  besides  that  she  mis- 
trusted strangers.  For  those  reasons  she  would 
delay  to  buy  what  they  wanted  till  she  last 
moment,  and  it  so  happened  that  on  the  third 
night  after  Ranieri  had  left  them,  her  mother 
asked  for  bread  when  there  was  none,  Bianca 
would  not  let  it  be  fetched  ;  but  fearing  that  her 
hunger  should  come  again  in  the  night,  after  she 
was  asleep,  Teresa  went  forth.  Not  long  after, 
Bianca  awoke,  and  called  her  daughter.  The 
house  was  still  as  death  ;  and  the  sick  woman 
waited,  thinking  that  Teresa  would  return.  At 
length  therci  were  sounds  as  of  tumult  in  the 
streets;  but  still  within  the  house  all  was  silent. 
Bianca  called  again  and  again.  Fearing  some 
mischance,  she  rose  up  in  the  bed  and  at  last 
put  forth  her  trembling  limbs,  and  went  forth 
into  the  next  room.  A  light  was  burning,  and 
a  book  was  open  where  Teresa  had  sat ;  but  al! 
was  solitary  and  still.  Bianca  tottered  over  to 
the  other  door,  and  listened  :  nothing  struck  her 
car  but  the  increasing  tumult  without. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

For  some  days  before  he  did  so,  Ranieri  had 
thought  of  escaping  from  his  sistei's  questions. 


He  distrusted  his  own  power  to  keep  his  secret, 
and  he  dreaded  lest  some  suspicion  of  the  truth 
should  defeat  the  very  purpose  of  his  father's 
sacrifice.  For  that  it  was  that  he  had  taken 
the  two  ducats,  which  he  kept  to  enable  him 
to  get  away  from  Venice  ;  for  he  thought  that 
if  he  could  reach  the  littorale,  great  part  of  his 
trouble  would  be  over.  He  liad  heard  of  Se 
bastian  from  his  mother — too  fond  to  deny  hira 
that  secret:  and  him  he  would  seek  and  serve. 
He  repaired  to  Canaregio,  near  which  lived  a 
fisherman  whom  he  had  known,  and  whom  he 
had  accompanied  in  his  boat,  both  for  pleasure 
and  for  help.  The  man  was  away  from  home, 
his  boat  having  been  taken  from  him  to  use  for 
carrying  some  provision,  with  others,  to  Lido  ; 
but  his  wife  let  Ranieri  stay  till  he  should  re- 
turn, thinking  that  some  fault  of  the  youth  had 
sent  him  away  from  his  family  for  a  while.  In 
their  poor  house  Ranieri  remained  three  days  ; 
and  still  the  man  did  not  return  ;  and  the  youth 
did  not  like  to  take  from  the  poor  woman's 
scanty  store.  For  the  ways  to  the  lagoon  were 
so  blocked  up  by  Carrara's  people,  that  there 
had  been  a  long  and  grievous  dearth  in  the 
place.  The  fisher's  wife,  whom  even  Ranieri 
remembered  a  girl,  had  suddenly  looked  older, 
from  hunger  and  fear.  He  already  began  to 
feel  the  gnawing  at  his  own  young  breast.  As 
the  third  day  closed  in,  he  stole  out,  and  wan- 
dered towards  St.  Mark's.  Many  of  the  streets 
through  which  he  passed  were  more  silent  than 
even  Venice  should  be,  for  they  were  quite  de 
serted  :  and  no  gondolas  were  skimming  the 
Canaregio.  As  he  approached  the  square,  there 
were  more  boats  and  people  astir.  Groups 
were  collected  in  the  streets,  of  grave  and  care- 
worn men,  from  whose  talk  as  he  passed,  he 
gathered  that  Pisani  made  no  head  against  the 
Genoese  ;  hut  that  more  danger  pressed  upon 
the  city  than  it  had  yet  known.  As  he  drew 
near  a  group,  one  spoke  sullenly  and  fiercely 
as  if  he  scarcely  cared  how  it  should  end,  and 
almost  hoped  that  the  Genoese  would  soon 
triumph,  so  that  the  ways  for  food  to  enter  the 
city  might  again  be  open.  The  other  men 
seemed  to  agree.  Ranieri  listened,  but  he  said 
nothing  ;  and  he  longed  to  be  at  Lido,  with  Se- 
bastian, fighting  his  first  battles  against  the 
strong  foe  that  had  so  struck  his  native  city 

While  he  stood,  one  man  touched  him  who 
had  so  spoken,  and  pointed  to  the  youth,  say- 
ing— "  Take  heed  what  thou  sayest,  Nadale  : 
it  is  not  always  safe  to  tell  one's  judgment 
aloud.  The  Ten  have  ears  to  hear  all  that  is 
said  in  that  fashion.     Who  knows  !" 

The  sullen  fellow  turned  round  on  his  heel, 
and  stared  at  Ranieri  as  though  he  would  learn 
by  examining  him  what  he  was.  Ranieri  knev/ 
the  man  at  once — he  it  was  who  had  sat  in  the 
wine-shop  when  Jacopo  was  seized.  The  youth 
moved  on. 

"Aye!"  cried  Nadale,  "thou  sayest  true: 
here  is  one  of  the  self-same  people  thou  spakest 
of.  Ola,  master  spy  !  if  you  can  sell  your  father, 
you  are  not  to  sell  honest  men,  who  speak 
wider  than  they  mean,  thinking  no  harm.  Stop, 
I  say." 

Ranieri,  instead  of  obeying,  would  have  hast- 
ened his  steps ;  but  the  man  who  had  already 
followed  him,  seized  him  by  the  arm.  The 
youth  snatched  himself  from  the  grasp,  ami 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


67 


drawing  his  poinard,  stood  ready  to  defend  him- 
self. JBut  the  spirit  of  the  chase  had  already 
animated  the  other  men,  and  he  was  now  sur- 
rounded too  etfectually  to  escape.  "  Stand 
back,"  he  cried,  "  or  I  shall  hurt  some  of  you 
before  you  take  me." 

"  Oh  ho  !"  laughed  Nadale  ;  "this  is  a  gen- 
tle spy,  perhaps  a  noble  gentleman  that  follows 
the  craft  for  pleasure." 

"  What  wouldst  thou  do  with  him,  Nadale  1" 

"  Do  !  why  silence  his  vile  tongue.  It  is  a 
spy,  friends  ;  a  fellow  that  will  sell  his  father. 
I  saw  him  with  my  own  eyes,  and  I  would  have 
helped  old  Boccolone  the  wine  man  to  pay  him 
his  wages  ;  but  some  officers  of  the  council 
were  with  him  then.  Where  are  thej  now, 
master  spy  V 

"  How  icnowest  thou  that  he  is  a  spy  1  Who 
is  hel"  cried  another. 

"  Who  is  he  1  why  perhaps  he  might  not  have 
been  so  wicked,  if  he  were  not  the  son  of  a 
traitor." 

"Thou  liest,  ribald  !"  cried  Ranieri. 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  lie — of  course.  Yes.  sisoori 
miei,  I  am  a  liar  :  you  that  know  me  know  that. 
And  this  gentleman  tells  no  lies  !  Oh  no  !  he 
tells  only  truth,  because  he  is  paid  for  it  by 
the  Ten  ;  blessed  be  they.  This  gentleman  is 
very  noble  in  Wood — oh  !  very  noble  indeed. 
He  is  related  to  Messer  Marco  Morosini,  as  I 
believe  ;  also  to  the  noble  and  puissant  Messer 
Lionardo  Morosini ;  also  to  Messer  Michele 
Morosini  ;  also  to  Messer  Georgio  Arduino, 
that  died  at  Candia  ;  yet  is  his  father  traitor. 
His  father  is  the  excellent  Messer  Jacopo  Ar- 
duino ;  oHce  a  most  powerful  merchant,  now  a 
prisoner  of  state  for  conspiring  with  the  Gobba 
to  poison  the  waters  of  this  poor  city.  I  be- 
lieve," said  Nadale  to  Ranieri,  gravely  doffing 
his  hat  with  mock  reverence,  "  I  believe  Mes- 
ser Jaoopo  is  not  of  the  grand  counciU  Per- 
haps he  is.  Pardon  me  if  I  did  not  mention 
it,  but  I  believe  the  excellent  gentleman  is  not 
in  the  grand  council,  but  only  in  prison." 

Stung  by  the  fellow's  insolence,  Ranieri 
struck  at  him  a  straight,  sharp  blow.  Nadale 
started  back,  and  caught  the  blow  on  his  arm  ; 
and  when  the  knife  returned,  its  blade  was  red 
and  wet  The  other  men  had  instantly  seized 
the  youth,  ■^^hilo  his  arm  was  still  stretched 
forth,  and  in  a  seoona  he  was  disarmed,  and 
held  fast  in  the  grasp  of  four  or  five,  his  arms 
held  out  on  either  side ;  while  his  detainers 
looked  at  Nadale  as  if  for  orders  what  to  do. 
Ranieri  also  looked  at  him.  The  man's  face 
blackened  with  rage  ;  his  heavy  features  con- 
tracting in  a  scowl  of  hate,  as  he  felt  in  his 
bosom  for  a  dagger,  which  he  slowly  drew 
forth.  As  Ranieri  stood  in  bondage,  his  breast 
)«»is  exposed  Ir,  the  blew  which  the  ruffian 
meditated  ;  but  he  shrunk  not,  nor  did  his  eye 
quail.  As  Nadale  stepped  closer,  his  foot 
struck  against  the  poniard  which  had  been 
dashed  from  the  youth's  hand.  He  picked  it 
up, and  looked  at  it.  He  held  it  against  his  arm, 
where  the  blood  had  soaked  through  the  sleeve. 
"Aye,"  he  cried,  "it  is  the  same.  Pity  that 
gentle  steel  should  be  soiled  with  such  vile 
stuff!  Nor  must  one  mix  it."  He  wiped  it 
carefully  oh  the  dry  part  of  the  sleeve,  and 
then  (hew  back  his  hand  to  strike. 

"Holdl"  cried  one    of  Ranieri's   detainers, 


"What  art  doing  1  Do  you  want  to  get  us  all 
in  prison  1" 

"  No,  no  ;  when  T  have  washed  this  same 
knife  in  the  stripling's  own  rosy  blood,  we'll  let 
him  fall,  by  chance,  into  the  canal." 

"  A  fine  scheme,  truly  !  No,  no,  Nadale  ; 
no  more  blood  :  let  us  give  him  up  to  the  Ten 
ourselves,  and  bring  your  blood  against  him."' 

"  Give  him  to  the  Ten  !  Why,  he  is  their 
own  servant.  Has  he  not  heard  what  I  said? 
Have  I  not  seen  him  give  his  own  father  up? 
Aye  !  while  they  drive  us  to  war  with  the  Ge- 
noese, they  worry  us  out  in  Venice  itself  with 
their  spies.  Tell  that,  signore  mio,  to  the  Ten, 
and  give  me  up.  Has  he  not  the  gold  in  his 
pocket  that  he  sold  his  father  for  !  Seek — 
see  if  he  has  not." 

"  Look  you  yourself,"  said  one,  "  while  we 
hold  him." 

Ranieri  knewahat  resistance  would  be  hope- 
less, and  he  chose  rather  to  maintain  a  proud 
stillness.  He  therefore  stirred  not,  while  Na- 
dale thrust  a  hand  into  the  bosom  of  his  vest, 
and  seon  found  in  his  pocket  the  two  pieces  of 
gold.  "What  !"  cried  the  ruffian,  "  only  two! 
didst  sell  thy  father  for  two  ducats  ?" 

"  He  has  given  the  rest  to  his  mistress,"  ex- 
claimed another. 

"Like  enough;  though  gifts  generally  pass 
the  other  way  with  pretty  boys  like  this.  'Twere 
a  pity  to  have  lost  this  gold  though  in  the 
canal." 

"Aye,"  said  the  man  that  had  staid  him 
when  he  was  about  to  strike ;  and  now  that 
you  have  the  gold,  do  not  let  us  save  him  from 
drowning  any  longer.  No  blood  ;  blood  tells 
tales." 

"  Be  it  as  you  will.  But  how,  think  you,  is 
he  likely  to  fall  in,  so  that  none  shall  seel" 

"We  will  give  him  a  turn  in  my  boat,  and 
perchance  he  may  slip  over ;  and  we  may  be 
so  anxious  to  save  him,"  added  the  man,  laugh- 
ing with  his  comrades,  "  that  we  may  only  liin- 
der  each  other.     Hark — what  is  that?" 

It  was  the  bell  of  St.  Mark's. 

Nadale  answered — "  It  is  the  old  bell  that 
they  ring  almost  every  day  now.  Something 
has  happened.  Let  us  hasten,  or  they  will  pre- 
vent us.     Where  is  thy  boat?" 

"  Close  at  hand,  bear  him  along." 

Ranieri  derived  some  comfort  from  finding 
that  he  had  respite  ;  and  already  he  watched 
for  a  favorable  moment  to  call  out  for  aid.  As 
they  came  to  a  bridge,  a  number  of  men  who 
were  hastening  to  the  great  square  crossed 
their  path.  With  a  sudden  effort,  Ranieri 
shook  off  the  grasp  of  the  men,  whose  thumbs 
began  to  ache  with  holding  his  arms.  He  ran 
forward,  crying,  "Help,  friends,  help!  Here 
are  traitors  that  would  slay  me.  For  the  bles- 
sed virgin  help  me."  In  an  instant,  however, 
the  grasp  was  again  on  his  arms,  tighter  than 
ever.  The  new  comers  stopped,  and  i)ressed 
forward  ;  they  were  friends  of  his  captors  ; 
who,  pointing  to  the  blood  on  Nadale's  arm, 
loudly  told  Ranieri's  crimes,  and  laughingly 
whispered  the  punishment  that  they  meant  for 
the  spy.  Again  they  led  him  forward,  across 
the  bridge,  towards  the  place  where  lay  the 
boat  that  was  to  be  the  instrument  of  execu- 
tion. The  youth's  heart  sank  within  him  as 
he  looked  at  tho  darkening  night,  and  imper- 


68 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


fectiy  saw  the  rough  ar>d  unimpressible  faces  that 
surrounded  him.  Already  he  felt  cut  off  from 
the  world.  But  he  strung  his  trembling  limbs 
with  all  his  fortitude,  determined  to  give  no 
triumph  to  his  murderers  in  any  show  of  weak- 
ness. He  thought  of  the  fallen  fortunes  of  his 
house,  of  his  mother's  dying  state,  his  father's 
imprisonment ;  and  in  bending  to  the  common 
fate  that  crushed  them  despair  steeled  his 
heart  against  regret.  Yet  again  he  thought  of 
his  dear  and  loving  sister,  and  a  tearful  passion 
seemed  to  swell  up  from  his  heart  viien  he 
thought  that  he  never,  never  more  should  see 
her.  But  she  would  be  protected  by  Sebastian  ; 
and  his  loss  would  still  leave  happiness  on 
earth  for  her.  As  he  walked  along,  Nadale 
came  close  and  whispered  in  his  ear — "  How 
sad,  that  Messer  Sebastiano  Morosini  cannot 
protect  the  brother  as  he  has  the  sister,  so 
grateful  for  the  care  !     Ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

Ranieri  turned  to  the  speaker  in  angry 
amazement ;  but  he  had  moved  farther  off, 
and  the  youth  could  hardly  discern  the  twinkle 
of  his  eye,  as  the  man  looked  at  him  with  bru- 
tal cunning. 

They  had  not  gone  many  yards,  ere  a  woman, 
who  was  walking  rapidly  towards  them,  step- 
ped aside  to  let  the  band  pass.  Ranieri  start- 
ed, and  felt  a  moment's  joy,  as  he  knew  his 
sister :  he  was  about  to  call  aloud  ;  but  he 
checked  the  sound,  and  turned  away  his  face  ; 
rather  suffering  alone,  than  desiring  to  drag 
her  into  his  cruel  fate  and  rude  persecution. 

But  it  was  too  late.  Teresa  had  drawn  her- 
self as  close  as  possible  to  the  wall  so  that  they 
might  not  push  against  her,  and  she  looked  at 
them  as  they  drew  nigh  ;  not  timid,  but  watch- 
ful. Suddenly  her  eye  glanced  upon  the  pris- 
oner. By  his  youthful  tallness,  by  the  slender 
grace  of  his  form,  and  the  firmness  and  spirit 
of  his  tread,  she  knew  her  generous  brother. 
A  low  cry  escaped  as  she  rushed  before  the 
march  of  the  rude  mob  :  for  such  the  crowd 
that  had  now  gathered  round  Nadale's  prisoner 
might  be  called.  Throwing  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  she  asked  why  he  was  thus  led  along. 

*'  Oh,  ho !  this  must  be  his  mistress,"  cried 
Nadale's  friend,  the  gondolier:  "this  accounts 
for  only  finding  two  ducats." 

More  bewildered  by  tlie  words,  though  she 
scarcely  heeded  them,  Teresa  turned  to  the 
speaker,  and  again  asked  why  the  youth  was 
detained  1 

"  Stand  back,  girl,  stand  back,"  cried  Nadale, 
"  we  want  not  to  harm  you,  but  we  may  chance 
to  do  it  if  you  stop  our  way." 

"  Trample  me  down,  then,"  said  Teresa  as 
she  drew  herself  up,  still  keeping  her  arms 
round  her  brother.  "  I  will  not  stir  till  I  know 
wherefore  he  is  your  prisoner." 

"Is  that  all,"  said  the  ruffian,  whose  voice 
Teresa  fancied  to  have  heard  before  :  "  then 
see  here  why  he  is  prisoner."  He  seized  her 
hand  roughly,  and  dabbled  it  on  his  soaked 
sleeve.  "Dost  feel  that?  It  is  wet;  it  is 
getting  wetter  and  wetter.  Bring  that  torch 
forward,  now  look  at  thy  hand,  girl  ;  is  it  not 
red  ?  Ay,  'tis  an  honest  man's  blood,  thou 
needst  not  loathe  it  so ;  'tis  mine.  If  thou 
must  shudder,  let  it  be  at  thy  gallant's  crime  : 
ask  him  whose  knife  cracked  my  flask  here  1" 

Teresa  sickened  as  she  looked  on  her  hand. 


and  saw  that  the  warm  moisture  was  red ! 
She  turned  her  eye  to  the  wounded  man. 
Heavens !  it  was  the  same  who  had  intruded 
into  her  mother's  chamber  in  search  of  her 
father,  and  whom  Sebastian  had  chased  away. 
She  looked  at  Ranieri :  his  face  was  pale 
and  stern,  but  her  questioning  eye  read  no  con- 
fession of  guilt.  "There  was,"  she  cried 
"  some  cause  for  the  blow.  Tell  me,  Ranieri ; 
for  your  enemies  are  silent." 

"  Teresa  mine,"  rephed  the  youth,  "  you  have 
given  to  my  danger  its  only  bitterness  in  being 
here.  This  is  but  an  idle  brawl,  and  I  being 
tiie  weaker,  cannot  resist  numbers.  But  it 
shall  all  end  well.  This  is  no  place  for  you. 
Leave  me  and  I  will  soon  follow  you  home." 

"Not  so  soon  as  you  think,  young  sir,"  cried 
Nadale  ;  "  but  he  says  well,  my  girl,  in  telling 
you  to  leave  us.  We  will  not  harm  him  :  no, 
truly  we  will  do  him  no  hurt ;  so  go  home,  and 
wait  for  him."     And  the  man  laughed. 

"  He  says  well,"  added  Ranieri.  "This  is 
no  place  for  you,  Teresa  mine  ;  and  as  for  me, 
fear  not ;  justice  will  be  done  to  me,  and  that 
will  leave  me  harmless." 

"  Think  it  not,"  answered  Teresa,  turning  to 
Nadale;  "I  leave  him  not,  until  I  see  him  in 
the  care  of  the  law,  if  he  has  offended  against 
the  state.  Who  is  it  that  accuses  himl"  And 
leaving  her  brother,  she  drew  back  and  spoke 
in  a  louder  voice  :  "  Who  is  his  accuser?  Did 
you  all  see  it  done,  that  you  are  here  as  ene- 
mies against  himl  Were  you  all  present? 
What  is  that  you  would  do  with  him  ?  if  he 
has  done  a  wrong  let  him  be  carried  before  his 
judges.  Is  it  in  Venice  that  you  will  help  one 
of  your  fellows  to  revenge  on  one  so  young  1 
Is  that  your  pride?  Or  do  you  forget  that  the 
Ten  will  allow  no  encroachment  on  their  power, 
and  that  those  who  steal  the  justice  which  it  is 
their  right  to  bestow,  must  suffer  for  their 
daring?" 

"  She  says  true,"  cried  several ;  and  a  man, 
who  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  came 
forward  to  represent  the  number  that  had  new- 
ly joined  the  group  round  the  disputants,  stran- 
gers who  had  no  interest  on  either  side,  and 
began  to  be  entertained  by  the  thickening  plot. 
Nadale  frowned  with  a  darker  scowl :  hoping 
to  remove  the  obstacle  to  his  wishes  by  bear- 
ing it  down,  he  went  towards  Teresa,  and 
pushing  her  rudely,  cried,  "Stand  i)ack,  girl, 
or  you  will  be  hurt ;  for  we  will  trample  you 
down." 

"  Stay,  stay,  good  man,"  said  the  new  comer 
stoutly.  "  Who  are  these  that  you  handle  so 
roughly  ?" 

"  Who  are  they  !  why  here  is  a  boy  that  has 
run  his  knife  into  a  better  man.  Who  is  he! 
he  is  the  son  of  a  traitor — one  Arduino  who 
plotted  at  la  Gobba's  wine  shop  to  poison  our 
wells.  He  is  a  child  you  would  cherish,  friends, 
is  he  not?" 

"But  this  girl?" 

"  The  girl !  cannot  you  guess.  Ha,  ha,  ha, 
did  you  not  see  how  she  hugged  him  ?" 

"His  sister,  his  sister!"  cried  Teresa. 
"Think  you  not  that  a  sister  can  cling  to  a 
brother  in  the  face  of  danger  and  death?  Will 
you  let  this  rude  man  use  violence  to  a  wo- 
man of  Venice,  because  she  claims  justice  fo 
her  brother  I" 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


69 


"No,  no,"  cried  her  new  friend,  "have  no 
fear,  lady." 

"  Oh  ho  !"  said  Nadale,  disappointment  mak- 
ing more  bitter  his  malignity,  "  his  sister  ! 
Why  then  we  have  two  traitor's  children. 
What  is  thisl"  he  cried,  picking  up  something 
from  the  ground.  It  was  a  new  loaf  "  What 
is  this  !  what  was  the  traitor's  daughter  carry- 
ing under  her  veil!"  He  held  it  up.  "  Do  you 
know  what  it  is,  menV 

"  It  is,"  said  Teresa,  firmly,  "  bread  which 
she,  who  is  no  traitor's  daughter,  was  carrying 
to  her  sick  mother.  Is  that  a  crime  Vene- 
tians?" 

"  No,  no,  no,"  shouted  many  voices. 

Nadale  cried  out  fiercely,  "  She  is  a  traitor's 
daughter,  ay,  and  a  traitor's  sister.  It  is  bread, 
.isiti  They  feed  well  then,  these  traitors! 
How  many  of  you,  honest  men,  have  bread  to 
throw  about  the  streets  at  this  time  1  The 
Genoese  keep  the  bread  from  us  true  Vene- 
tians. Do  you  feel  hungry,  any  of  you  1  I  do. 
We  cannot  get  bread.  But  these  traitors — 
these  half  Genoese — they  have  bread  to  throw- 
about  our  streets!  Have  you  gold  1  How 
many  of  you  have  gold  1  Has  any  single  one 
of  you  one  piece  of  gold  in  his  pocket !  One 
piece  of  silver  1  No,  it  has  all  gone  to  buy 
bread,  long,  long  ago  ;  and  now  there  is  neither 
money  to  buy  bread,  nor  bread  to  be  bought. 
But  these  traitors  have  bread  :  and  they  have 
gold  too.  See  here."  He  held  up  the  two 
pieces  that  he  had  taken  from  Ranieri.  "  Two 
of  them.  That  lad  is  young,  is  he  not,  to  have 
two  good  golden  ducats,  all  solid  and  undip- 
ped 1  But  tlien  he  is  a  traitor,  and  they  get 
gold,  these  traitors  do.  And  how  think  you 
that  he  got  iti"  ■ 

A  faint  sickness  came  over  Teresa  as  she 
glanced  fearfully  at  the  gold  and  heard  Na- 
dale's  coarse  brutal  voice.  In  terror  she  lis- 
tened for  his  next  words. 

"  He  is  the  son,  remember,  of  the  traitor  that 
was  paid  to  poison  our  wells  :  good,  how  should 
the  youngster  get  some  money  for  himself! 
How  !     Why,  he  sold  his  father  to  the  Ten." 

A  shudder,  sharp  and  convulsive,  rushed 
through  Teresa's  frame,  at  hearing  out  spoken 
what  she  iiad  already  learned  to  thrust  away 
from  her  thoughts. 

"  Is  all  this  true,  my  girl  ]"  asked  her  stran- 
ger friend. 

Teresa  sought  an  answer  in  her  brother's 
face.  He  had  remained  motionless  throughout 
the  scene,  mastering  his  rqge,  and  watching  for 
a  moment  when  he  could  l)urst  from  the  grasp 
of  his  detainers.  But  the  hard  fieshy  fetters  at 
his  wrists  and  elbows  relaxed  not.  He  an- 
swered Teresa  with  a  firm  regard,  which  seem- 
ed to  say.  It  is  true  and  yet  I  am  falsely  accu- 
sed. She  knew  it  all.  She  turned  to  the 
questioner,  answering — "It  is  more  false  than 
true.  There  is  so  much  truth  in  it,  that  the 
devil  may  uso  to  make  us  beUcvc  lii.s  false- 
hood. But,  true  or  false,  we  ask  no  favor,  but 
only  justice.  And  while  the  bell  tolls  to  the 
danger  of  Venice" — the  ringing  still  soimded 
solemnly  from  the  tower  of  St.  Mark — "shall 
we  tempt  Heaven  by  injustice  V 

"  The  girl  says  well,"  said  the  stranger  : 
"let  us  bear  them  to  the  square,  and  deliver 
them  up." 


"  Aye,"  said  Nadale,  furiously,  "  deliver  them 
up  to  the  Ten  that  pay  them  !" 

"  Hush  !  hush !"  cried  the  whole  crowd, 
struck  with  fear  at  his  audacity. 

•'  Besides,"  he  added,  "  who  will  attend  to  do 
justice  to  a  poor  wounded  silk-weaver  like  me, 
in  this  hour  of  alarm  1" 

"  All,"  answered  Teresa  eegarly  striving  to 
improve  the  friendly  disposition  among  the 
mob  ;  "  the  more  the  danger  the  more  need 
to  "be  just  before  Heaven.  Bear  us  to  the 
square." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  shouted  the  people  ;  "  delay 
here  no  longer.     Bring  them  along." 

Nadale  yielded  perforce  ;  and  the  whole  mul- 
titude moved  forward.  The  cunning  ruffian, 
however,  did  not  so  easily  relinquish  his  prey. 
Teresa  walked  free  ;  but  she  observed  that  as 
they  crossed  a  bridge  and  passed  along  the  nar- 
row streets,  Nadale  and  his  friends  contrived  to 
draw  close  round  her  and  her  brother.  They 
entered  the  square,  where  the  thickening  night 
was  broken  by  many  a  torch  flitting  hither  and 
thither.  There  was  some  commotion  near  the 
palace,  and  in  the  piazzetta  ;  and  numbers  oJ 
the  crowd  that  accompanied  them  hurried  for- 
ward with  the  impulse  of  curiosity.  She  lis- 
tened ;  but  could  not  gather  from  the  confused 
sounds  which  reached  her  what  it  was  that 
threatened  the  city  with  new  calamities. 

They  had  now  come  in  front  of  the  palace  ; 
the  greater  part  of  their  escort  had  gradually 
mingled  with  the  throng  that  filled  the  place  ; 
when  Nadale  thinking  that  his  time  had  come, 
whispered  to  his  adherents  ;  and,  approaching 
Teresa,  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  If  you  would  be 
safe,  now,  go  :  I  have  no  quarrel  with  you." 

•'  I  leave  not  my  brother,"  answered  Teresa, 
foreseeing  the  attempt  that  was  about  to  be 
made  ;  and  she  hastily  moved  back  towards 
Ranieri. 

Nadale  seized  her  roughly.  "  Stay  then,  and 
your  blood  be  upon  your  own  head.  Turn  back, 
boys  ;  they  have  forgotten  us  now." 

"Friends,"  shrieked  Teresa,  "help!  help! 
Ranieri,  stir  yourself;  let  them  not  bear  us 
back." 

Strong  with  new  power  at  lier  call,  Ranieri 
shook  off  the  hold  of  the  man  that  held  him. 
and  his  sister  was  in  his  arms  ;  while  he  struck 
madly  right  and  left  with  his  clenched  hand. 

"Fool!"  cried  Nadale,  "cease  this  noise. 
You  will  not !"  With  his  fist  he  struck  the  girl 
violently  on  the  head,  calling  to  his  companions 
— "  Seize  the  boy  ;  lift  hmi  off  his  legs.  That's 
it.  Tear  him  off  her.  Fool !  fool  !  And  as 
the  youth  was  dragged  from  her,  Nadale  struck 
her  again  and  again,  now  on  the  face,  now  on 
the  chest.  Bravely  she  strove  to  ward  off  his 
blows  and  to  follow  her  retreating  brother  ;  but 
her  blanched  lips  quivered  ;  the  man's  hard 
blows  seemed  to  batter  the  breath  out  of  her 
breast  ;  her  sight  began  to  swim  ;  and  she 
.staggered  and  reeled  as  the  sobs  of  agony  and 
aespair  burst  from  lier  compressed  lips. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  change  in  the  tumult 
round  her.  The  blows  cea.scd  ;  the  voices  grew 
louder,  the  strife  fiercer ;  and  as  consciousness 
left  her  terrified  soul,  she  was  aware  that  she 
sank  into  the  arms  dearest  and  safest  to  her  in 
the  world.     It  was  Sebastian. 

He  It  was  who  had  brought  tidings  how  the 


70 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


Genoese  had  burst  through  the  barriers  in  the 
port  of  Venice;  how  nothing  remained  be- 
tween the  city  and  its  foe  but  the  loose  and 
floating  force  of  Pisani,  driven  back  ahiiost  to 
the  housa  walls ;  on  his  arrival  with  that 
terrible  report  was  it  that  St.  Mark's  bell  had 
tolled.  He  had  just  left  the  palace,  and  was 
piercing  his  way  through  the  crowd,  when  Te- 
resa's shriek  struck  close  at  hand  on  his  as- 
tounded ear.  In  an  instant  he  was  by  her  side. 
Closely  hemmed  in,  and  engaged  with  one  arm 
in  clasping  his  dear  love,  he  could  not  draw  his 
sword  ;  but  the  brutal  Nadale  scarcely  profited 
by  that.  Before  tiie  ruffian  was  aware  of  his 
new  foe,  a  terrible  blow  shattered  his  jaw 
as  he  looked  round.  Turning  like  a  wild  beast 
to  attack  his  more  than  equal  enemy,  a  second 
blow  came  like  a  rock  thrown  at  his  forehead, 
and  sent  him  blind  and  stunned,  at  the  feet 
of  her  whom  he  had  so  cruelly  used.  Sebas- 
tian called  for  aid  :  he  was  well  known,  and 
without  asking  what  his  quarrel  was,  many 
soon  joined  him,  and  drove  Nadale's  band 
away. 

The  multitude  was  still  swaying  to  and  fro 
around  them,  some  stopping  to  gaze  at  the 
pair  so  strangely  grouped,  when  Sebastian 
looked  down  on  the  burden  in  his  arms.  He 
was  struck  with  horror  at  thinking  of  the  cru- 
elties from  which  he  had  just  snatched  a  thing 
80  precious.  Teresa's  veil  had  been  thrown 
back  :  her  hair  floated  in  disorder  on  her  shoul- 
ders, and  where  the  gentle  fair  locks  waved 
from  the  head,  a  few  stains  of  blood  still  oozing 
forth  showed  where  the  coward's  blow  had 
struck,  while  her  soft  lips,  slightly  parted  as 
she  lay  in  her  swoon,  were  fuller  and  redder 
with  moist  blood.  In  an  agony  of  tender  rage, 
Sebastian  felt  a  hot  gushing  glow  as  though 
his  heart's  blood  had  forced  itself  to  his  eyes. 
As  he  looked,  a  hand  was  laid  firmly  on  his 
shoulder,  and  a-voice  said,  "Is  this  Sebastian 
Morosini  V 

"The  same;"  and  he  looked  round  to  see 
who  thus  addressed  him. 

It  was  a  tall  woman,  whose  face  was  con- 
cealed by  a  veil  drawn  closely  around  it.  "It 
is  well,"  she  said,  "  or  I  should  have  asked 
your  claim  to  hold  what  you  have  in  your 
arms.  But  tarry  not  here.  How  shall  we 
bear  her  home ;  for  she  must  needs  return  with 
all  speed  1" 

"We  will  convey  her  to  the  nearest  boat." 

"  Have  you  any  servants  here  T' 

"  None ;  and  there  are  none  at  hand  that  I 
would  trust." 

"  It  is  all  the  better.  Tell  these  gazers  not 
to  follow  us.     Lift  her  gently." 

Leaving  Sebastian  to  bear  the  fainting  wo- 
man's head,  Rosa,  for  she  itwas,  gathered  Te- 
resa's clothes  carefully  round  her,  and  raised 
her  legs.  Sebastian  whispered  to  one  near 
him  to  prevent  the  others  from  following  them  ; 
and  his  courteous  speech  at  once  made  the 
stranger  so  trusty  a  servant,  that  in  a  few  in- 
stants the  two  were  threading  the  way  through 
a  part  of  the  crowd  who  knew  nothing  of  the 
disturbance  ;  which  had  attracted  the  less  no- 
tice, since  all  were  intent  on  learning  the 
cause  of  the  ominous  toll.  Rosa  led  the  way 
with  a  light  but  firm  step,  from  the  great 
square,  and  so  to  the  water  side,  higher  up  the 


canal  at  a  more  private  place  than  at  the  stepa 
of  the  piazetta :  presently  they  were  seated 
within  the  awning  of  one  of  the  many  boats 
which  even  in  that  troubloustime  plied  inthe  wa- 
tery streets  of  Venice.  Rosa  fastened  back  the 
curtain  of  the  boat  so  as  to  admit  the  night 
breeze.  She  had  laid  Teresa  on  one  of  the  seats : 
Sebastian  still  held  her  clasped  in  his  arms,  her 
head  lying  on  his  breast.  The  repose  of  the 
boat  and  the  fresh  air  on  the  water  seemed  to 
revive  her. 

"  Speak  to  her,"  said*  Rosa  ;  "  it  will  rouse 
her ;  and  she  should  not  reach  home  thus." 

Sebastian  whispered  Teresa's  name,  and 
pressed  her  gently  in  his  arms.  Her  eyes 
opened  for  an  instant ;  and  then  closed  again  ; 
but  she  knew  him,  for  she  nestled  her  bruised 
head  closer  to  him,  as  an  infant  presses  against 
its  mother  to  be  reassured  of  safety.  Pre- 
sently she  opened  her  eyes  again,  and  putting 
her  hand  to  her  brow,  seemed  to  collect  her 
memoiy.  Suddenly  snatching  Sebastian's  hand, 
she  pressed  it  to  her  lips  ;  "  The  third  time 
saved  !''  she  whispered.  Then  looking  round 
she  saw  in  the  faint  light  that  some  one  was 
near  them.     "  Ranieri  1"  she  cried. 

"  It  is  not  Ranieri,"  said  the  other  drawing 
nearer  to  her,  "  but  Rosa." 

Teresa  stretched  out  her  hand  to  take  Rosa's, 
but  suddenly  starting,  she  exclaimed,  "And 
Ranieri — is  he  not  here  !  It  is  so  dark,  I  can- 
see  him." 

"  Ranieri,  dearest,"  answered  Sebastian,  "is 
not  with  you  ;  but  you  are  safe." 

"  Alas,  alas  !  Sebastian,  let  us  go  back.  That 
was  what  I  staid  for,  but  that  I  was  so  weak. 
Alas  !  they  were  bearing  him  I  think  to  death. 
Let  us  go  back  ;  it  may  not  yet  be  too  late." 

Sebastian  would  have  obeyed  her  ;  but  Rosa 
prevented  him.  "  Ranieri  is  not  here,"  she 
said,  "  but  you  must  go  homeward,  dear  lady." 

"  Nay,  nay,  not  without  my  brother." 

"Indeed  you  must,"  said  Rosa,  pressing  her 
arm  as  if  to  make  her  yield — "  your  moth- 
er— " 

"  My  mother  !  what  of  her  1  Oh  !  it  is  so 
dark,  Rosa,  that  I  cannot  see  your  face  to  tell 
what  you  mean." 

"  Your  mother  is  safe,  but,  sweet  lady,  in 
sore  fear  at  your  absence.  \  ou  must  go  back." 
Rosa's  voice  was  low  and  forced,  as  if  she  tried 
to  seem  calmer  than  she  felt. 

"  Rosa,  your  voice  is  altered,"  cried  Teresa  ; 
"  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  Why,  no  more  than  I  have  told  you.  I 
went  to  your  house,  hearing  that  something 
was  amiss,  and  as  I  came  to  the  door  I  found 
your  mother — " 

"My  mother!    in  the  street  ?' 

"  Aye,  with  some  women  round  her,  halt 
terrified  at  her,  and — the  fools  ! — half  taking 
pleasure  to  tell  lier  wliat  they  had  heaid — " 

"  And  that  was  1" 

"  Of  Ranieri,  whom  they  krew." 

"My  poor  mother!  but  yo  i  left  her  not  in 
the  streets  of  Venice,  Rosa  m.iie." 

"  Indeed  I  did  not.  I  led  lier  in,  and  to 
soothe  her,  set  out  to  find  you  ;  for  you  it  was 
she  asked  for  when  they  told  her  of  Ranieri. 
But  stop  the  boat,  Messer  Sebastian  ;  for  it 
were  better  to  land  here.  Can  you  go  with  hia 
support  alone,  lady  mine  V 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


71 


Sebastian  paid  the  men  ;  and  they  were  soon 
on  shore.  It  was  dark,  but  a  slight  glimmer  of 
raoon light  showed  the  path.  Teresa  suffered 
Sebastian  to  pass  his  arm  round  her  to  support 
her,  but  she  stepped  hastily  forward  ;  and  a  few 
silenl  minutes  brought  them  to  the  door  of  her 
house.  It  was  unclosed ;  but  all  was  silent 
without.  Teresa  entered.  Sebastian  followed 
her  close ;  and  while  they  passed  on,  Rosa 
staid  to  fasten  the  door.  On  the  stair,  Teresa 
stopped  and  listened.  She  hurried  forward. 
At  the  to  pof  the  stair  she  listened  again. 
A  light  in  the  distant  room  gleamed  faintly 
through  the  open  doors  ;  but  all  was  still  as 
death.  Teresa  turned  to  Sebastian,  and  took 
his  hand  ;  she  shook  so,  that  he  could  hear  the 
quaking  of  her  limbs. 

"Sebastian  —  Sebastian!"  she  cried,  in  a 
choked  whisper  ;  "  this  silence  !  I  shall  go  mad 
with  terror." 

"  Dearest  love,  your  mother  is  worn  out 
and  sleeps.  Stay  you  here  and  let  me  go  for- 
ward." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  am  stronger  now  that  I  have 
heard  your  voice."  And  she  went  on,  but 
more  cautiosly,  until  they  reached  the  saloon 
now  so  familiar  to  Sebastian.  Never  had  sight 
made  Sebastian's  stout  heart  quail  like  that 
which  then  met  their  eyes. 

At  the  opposite  door  stood  Bianca,  in  her 
white  night-dress,  holding  in  her  hand  above 
her  head  the  only  lamp  that  lighted  the  place: 
her  attitude  was  fixed  as  stone  ;  her  face  was 
more  pale  than  marble,  and  strained  forward  as 
her  glassy  eyes  pierced  the  gloom  beyond,  her 
thin  hair  gray,  before  its  time,  hanging  in  lank 
locks  on  either  side  ;  and  she  held  her  left  hand 
up  with  the  finger  extended,  as  though  she  had 
bid  her  breath  be  more  silent,  that  she  might 
listen  for  her  children.  So  she  had  stood,  lis- 
tening to  the  distant  tumult,  ever  since  Rosa 
had  left  her,  vainly  hoping  that  she  would  re- 
main in  her  bed.  As  Teresa  entered,  Bianca's 
eyes  glared  for  a  moment  with  a  wilder  stare  ; 
for  she  doubted  her  disordered  senses,  and 
thought  that  she  saw  in  her  daughter's  pale  and 
terrified  face  and  dishevelled  hair  a  vision 
wretched  as  herself;  but  when  she  saw  tliat  it 
was  really  Teresa,  her  rigid  form  relaxed  ;  slie 
essayed  to  step  forward.  She  tottered  ;  the 
lamp  fell  from  her  hand,  leaving  them  in  dark- 
ness ;  and  after  the  clang  of  the  falling  brass 
a  heavier  and  deader  sound  told  them  that 
Bianca  herself  had  fallen.  Teresa  had  al- 
ready come  so  close  that  she  could  take  her 
mother  in  her  arms.  She  called  to  her ;  but 
there  was  no  answer.  Sebastian  had  found 
them,  and  helped  to  support  the  lifeless  form. 
There  was  a  pause;  in  the  darkness  and  the 
silence,  Sebastian  almost  fancied  that  he  was 
alone,  dreaming  of  what  he  knew  was  doing 
near  liini. 

"  I  wdl  fetch  a  light,"  said  Teresa.  Her 
voice  was  so  hoarse,  tliat  at  first  Sebastian 
knew  it  not.  He  heard  her  go,  and  Bianca  re- 
mained alone  in  his  arms.  Presently  Teresa 
returned  with  another  lamp.  She  bent  over  her 
mother,  and  looked  earnestly  in  her  fiice : 
starting  back  with  a  shudder,  she  placed  the 
lamp  upon  the  floor  near  her,  and  taking  her 
mother's  hand,  prostrated  herself,  before  her  on 
the  ground,  and  placed  that  hand  on  her  own 


head,  as  though  she  would  make  it  bless  her. 
Sebastian  looked  round  upon  Bianca's  face,  as 
the  head  leaned  back  in  his  arm  :  he  closed  the 
upturned  eyes.  A  hand  pressed  on  his  shoulder 
again  made  him  look  round.  Rosa  pointed  to 
Teresa,  as  she  herself  kneeled  down  to  take 
Bianca's  body  from  his  support.  He  lifted  Te- 
resa from  the  ground.  She  tried  almost  roughly 
to  tear  away  his  grasp  ;  but  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice  she  suffered  hinr  to  place  her  on  a  chair; 
while  Ro, ,d,  tenderly  raising  the  body  in  her. 
powerful  arms,  bore  it  from  the  room  to  the 
bed  where  its  life  had  withered  away  so  long 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

After  the  first  stun  of  her  grief  had  passed, 
Teresa  again  bethought  her  of  her  brother,  and 
would  once  more  have  set  out  in  quest  of  him; 
but  Sebastian  appeased  her,  with  a  promise  to 
search  for  him ;  and  leaving  the  sufferer  in 
Rosa's  charge,  he  went  to  the  scene  of  conflict. 
Nadale  was  still  lying  there  :  some  one  had 
dragged  the  wounded  wretch  to  the  side,  among 
the  stones  set  for  building  in  the  yet  unfinished 
part  of  the  piazza  ;  but  no  one  had  fetched  him 
away.  Sebastian  called  a  man  to  him,  and 
gave  him  a  piece  of  gold  to  strive  to  restore  his 
fallen  foe  to  consciousness  and  bear  him  home  ; 
promising  him  another  reward  on  tidings  of  the 
man's  recovery,  and  on  learning  his  name.  But 
Ranieri  could  nowhere  be  found.  Sebastian 
returned  to  Teresa,  to  console  her  as  he  best 
could,  with  hopes  of  Ranieri's  safety,  since  the 
neglect  of  Nadale  showed  him  how  completely 
their  enemies  had  been  routed. 

That  night,  while  Rosa  remained  with  Te- 
resa, he  watched  in  one  of  the  lower  rooms  of 
the  house.  Early  in  the  morning  he  renewed 
the  search  for  Ranieri,  but  still  without  suc- 
cess. Providing  himself  with  money  which  his 
good  uncle  had  left  at  his  disposal,  he  returned 
to  the  house  of  mourning. 

Rosa  admitted  him,  and  stopped  him,  as  he 
would  have  passed  on  with  a  courteous  saluta- 
tion. "This,"  she  said,  "is  no  place  for  Ma- 
donna Teresa."  It  was  the  very  feeling  in  his 
mind  ;  but  he  had  not  yet  bethought  him  of  any 
safe  retreat  for  her.  Rosa  continued — "  She 
must  be  removed  with  all  speed." 

"  Have  you  then  a  place  where  she  can  be 
safe]" 

"  Alas !  no,  I  have  not — not  in  my  house — 
anywhere  but  there.  Still  I  can  find  such  a 
place." 

"And  how — forgive  me,  dear  damsel — how 
shall  I  be  assured  of  her  saletyl' 

Rosa  iookcd  at  hiin  proudly,  but  not  angrily. 
"  You  do  well  not  to  trust  one  so  ])rccious  to 
strange  liands.  Ask  Teresa  who  f  am  ;  she 
will  tell  you — all ;  and  then  trust  mc,  and  I  will 
bless  you  for  it.  1  know  not  how  it  is,  Messer 
Sebastian,  but  on  the  success  of  your  love,  or 
rather  of  Teresa's,  rests  my  hope  that  happi- 
ness  in  the  world  is  possible  ;  not  nunc  own, 
jjcrhaps,  but  some  happiness.  But  1  speak 
without  your  understanding.  Let  Teresa  tell 
you,  and  then  tru.st  her  to  nie  ;  for  in  all  that  I 
can  serve  her,  henceforth  she  is  luy  mistress. 


72 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


It  is  the  blessed  power  of  the  good,  that  even 
when  unfortunate  themselves,  they  can  give 
happiness  and  consolation  to  others." 

She  leA  him,  and  he  repaired  to  Teresa.  He 
found  her  more  composed,  and  for  the  first  time 
he  heard  the  story  of  what  had  happened,  so 
far  as  she  knew  it,  to  make  the  danger  from 
which  he  had  rescued  her.  "  I  once  told  you, 
Sebastian,"  slie  said,  "  to  abandon  a  fate  so 
doomed  as  tliat  of  my  house  ;  little  did  I  think 
then  that  yet  worse  mischance  and  degradation 
■  would  visit  it;  and  yet,  though  I  have  stronger 
reason,  I  cannot  now  bid  you  abandon  me  : 
why  did  I  not  use  the  power  wliiie  I  had  it  1 
But  I  have  it  no  longer." 

"  I  wdl  not,  sweet  life,"  answered  Sebastian, 
"scold  you  tor  such  disloyalty  as  to  wish  you 
had  done  wliat  would  have  destroyed  me  lliough 
it  had  not  killed  me  ;  hut  rather  let  it  he  the 
stronger  reason  why  you  should  suffer  me  to 
take  you  to  myself  in  the  face  of  the  world,  so 
that  your  fote  may  be  made  more  fortunate  by 
being  made  mine,  and  mine  more  blessed  by 
being  made  yours." 

"Not  so.  I  will  not  rob  Venice  in  the  day 
of  danger  of  the  best  among  its  servants — I  am 
not  so  craven  as  even  to  desire  your  safety  at 
such  a  price.  I  will  not  risk  the  trouble  to  you 
which  so  strange  a  marriage  might  bring  upon 
you,  from  the  displeasure  of  your  father  or  of 
the  grand  council.  No,  Sebastian,  before  I 
consent  that  you  wed  the  daughter  of  a  traitor, 
and  the  sister  of  a  traitor,  let  us  try  to  discover 
proof  of  the  innocence  I  believe.  Besides,  I 
dare  not,  yet  trembling  with  the  sight  we  saw 
last  night,  and  while  my  unhappy  mother  still 
lingers  on  the  earth  that  was  so  cruelly  match- 
ed with  her  angel  nature — I  dare  not  take  to 
myself  so  much  happiness,  lest  it  drive  away 
the  sorrow  that  I  ought  yet  to  sulTer  as  a  sacri- 
fice to  that  sainted  spirit." 

"  Be  it  as  you  will,"  said  Sebastian  ;  and  he 
told  her  of  what  Rosa  had  said.  Teresa  in 
turn  told  him  Rosa's  history;  saying  that  in 
her  own  life  she  had  run  worse  risks  than  she 
feared  from  trusting  Rosa.  Sebastian  perforce 
consented. 

That  night  the  body  of  Bianca  was  silently 
interred  ;  none  but  a  few  holy  men,  and  three 
mourners,  a  man  and  two  women,  witnessing 
the  dismal  ceremony.  Teresa  returned  not 
home  ;  but  guarded  by  her  two  friends,  she  was 
placed  Willi  all  possible  jjrivacy  in  the  bouse  of 
Picrotto,  Rosa's  ancient  friend  and  neighbor. 
Before  he  again  suddenly  took  leave  of  her  next 
day,  Sebastian,  summoned  to  the  sea-coast, 
felt  more  certain  of  her  safety  than  he  had  yet 
done. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

When  Nadale  was  so  suddenly  attacked,  his 
friends,  remembering  his  audacious  words,  to 
which  they  almost  as  audaciously  had  listened, 
and  fearing  that  the  officers  of  the  Ten  were 
upon  them,  made  such  good  use  of  their  heels, 
that  in  few  minutes  no  two  were  in  sight  of 
each  other.  Tbo.se  who  had  iicld  Ranieri, 
hastily  let  liirn  fall.  Although  slightly  stunned 
by  striking  against  the  tiles,  with  which  Venice 


was  then  paved,  and  somewhat  bruised  by  the 
feet  of  those  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  the  dark, 
he  soon  recovered.  He  had  heard  from  the 
attack,  and  the  manner  of  his  captors'  flight, 
that  there  had  been  a  rescue,  and  he  hoped  for 
Teresa's  safety.  Drawing  to  the  side  of  the 
stjuare,  he  sat  down  with  his  back  against  the 
wall,  to  rest  from  the  pain  he  suffered,  and  to 
think  what  he  should  next  do.  He  more  than 
ever  feared  to  go  home,  lest  the  guilt  that  he 
could  not  disavow  should  be  visited  on  his 
mother  and  sister  ;  and  he  was  more  still  bent 
on  striving  to  reach  Sebastian,  at  the  sea-coast. 
But  his  money  was  gone.  As  he  sat,  he  saw 
a  gentleman  stumble,  and  presently  stoop  down, 
and  drag  something  towards  the  place  where 
Ranieri  sat ;  he  saw  that  it  was  the  body  of  a 
man,  and  he  guessed  that  the  other  had  stum- 
bled over  it,  and  now  dragged  it  out  of  the  way 
for  the  sake  of  pity.  As  the  youth  sat,  he  was 
in  the  dark,  to  which  his  eyes,  better  accus- 
tomed, could  see  without  being  seen  ;  so  that 
the  gentleman  dragged  the  body  close  to  him, 
and  left  it  there  without  speaking.  Ranieri 
bent  towards  it.  It  was  Nadale :  and  by  the 
warmth  and  hard  breathing,  the  youth  knew 
that  he  still  lived.  As  he  looked,  he  remem- 
bered that  the  ruffian  had  robbed  him  of  the 
two  ducats  which  he  had  taken,  and  he  be- 
thought him  that  he  might  recover  them.  So 
opening  the  man's  bosom,  he  felt  for  them  ;  and 
he  found  thenr  in  a  pocket ;  and  also  in  the 
man's  girdle  was  Ranieri's  poniard,  which  I;e 
took  back  again.  He  left  the  man's  vest  open, 
so  that  he  might  be  the  more  likely  to  revive 
froin  the  air  ;  for  he  did  not  wish  to  have  blood 
upon  his  head.  Then  leaving  the  square,  he 
returned  to  Canareggio  and  the  house  which  he 
had  lel't  that  evening.  At  first  the  woman  re- 
fused to  let  him  enter ;  for  she  had  heard  of 
his  misadventure,  and  she  feared  to  bring  trou- 
ble upon  herself  if  he  were  found  in  the  house  ; 
but  he  besought  her  so  earnestly  not  to  leavu 
him  to  perish,  and  promised  her  so  saucily  that 
he  would  pay  her  with  kisses,  if  she  would  not 
tell  her  husband,  that  the  good  woman,  who 
perhaps  liked  his  gay  spirit  and  young  beauty 
better  than  it  would  have  pleased  her  to  tell 
her  husband,  though  she  thought  that  there  was 
no  real  harm  with  such  a  child,  opened  her 
door,  and  let  the  wanderer  in.  Be  sure  he  did 
not  forget  the  promised  guerdon  ;  for  the  fish- 
erman was  not  yet  returned.  For  two  days 
the  tender-hearted  woman  concealed  him  ;  and 
so  well  did  he  tell  his  tale,  and  so  skilfully  put 
the  offer  of  his  two  golden  ducats,  that  on  th(» 
third  day  the  man  consented  to  convey  him  tu 
Lido. 

They  waited  till  the  night  was  far  advanced, 
and  then  the  fisher  set  out  with  a  helpmate 
and  Ranieri,  as  if  for  his  daily  toil.  They 
cleared  the  city  without  hindrance  from  the 
guards,  who  recognized  the  man's  voice  ;  and 
using  their  best  speed,  though  they  made  a 
wide  bend  to  avoid  the  Genoese,  they  arrived 
at  Lido  at  early  noon,  and  the  boatman  oflered 
some  llsh  to  the  soldiers  that  gathered  round 
his  boat.  "Nay,  we  want  to  buy  no  fish," 
cried  one  ;  "the  republic  pays  for  uc."  "But 
it  is  fine  and  fresh  ;  no  republic  can  have  fish 
so  fine  and  fresh  as  that ;  for  it  must  get  had 
and  stinking  before  it  can  possibly  pass  through 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


the  offices."  "  He  says  true,"  said  another  ; 
"  hut  I  care  not  for  fish.  Come,  you  must  not 
stay  liere.  And  what  are  you  landing  for, 
youngster  1'"  lie  said  to  Ranieri.  '-Oh!"  an- 
swered the  fisher,  "  he  is  going  to  his  master. 
You  do  not  think  that  young  gallant  is  a  fish- 
erman, do  youl"  His  master!  And  wiio  is 
your  master,  Senor  Ragazzetto  1"  "Messer 
Sebastiano  Morosini."  "Nonsense,  what  can 
he  want  of  boy  lackeys  like  you]  Push  off 
again,  I  tell  you ;  get  into  the  boat,  or  I'll 
throw  you  in."  "  Stay,"  said  Ranieri,  subdu- 
ing his  anger,  and  passively  resisting  tlie  rough 
soldier — "  See,  tliere  is  one  who  knows  me — 
that  English  soldier  there,  with  the  red  sleeves 
under  his  mail.  Ola,  Turnbull !"  Most  fortu- 
nately, Ranieri's  sturdy  friend  was  loitering  by  ; 
and  after  one  look  of  astonishment,  with  more 
ready  wit  than  his  broad  face  gave  him  credit 
for,  he  suddenly  understood  Ranieri  to  be  a 
page  to  Sebastian,  and  stoutly  vouched  for  the 
fact ;  moreover,  seizing  the  youth  in  his  arm, 
and  interposing  the  weight  of  his  massy  form 
between  his  friend  and  the  guard.  By  this 
time  the  boat  was  far  on  its  way  back  to  Venice, 
and  the  Venetian  soldiers  suffered  their  English 
comrade  to  bear  off  his  prize.  "  And  now, 
Messer  Arduino,  that  I  have  helped  you  ashore, 
what  am  I  to  dp  with  youl"  "Lead  me  to 
Sebastian  V 

As  they  passed  along,  Ranieri's  inexiie- 
rienced  eyes  were  astonished  at  the  change 
which  had  been  made  on  the  island.  Besides 
the  fort  which  guarded  the  entrance,  now 
beyond  his  view,  the  whole  place  was  fortified. 
Vines  and  fruits  were  all  gone.  Palisades, 
and  walls,  and  ditches  were  seen  on  every 
side  ;  and  here  and  there  rose  towers,  strang- 
ers to  his  sight,  some  of  wood,  others  of  solid 
stone.  They  seemed  to  be  within  a  very 
extensive  palisade  which  stretched  far  beyond 
his  power  to  u,.'linguish  it;  and  all  around 
were  the  tents  of  the  soldiers  collected  by  the 
republic.  "  There,"  cried  Turnbull,  pointing, 
and  patching  up  his  broken  Italian  as  best  he 
could  with  scraps  of  English,  muttered  to  him- 
self^— "  as  far  as  you  can  see  to  the  left,  those 
arc  the  men  of  Robert  Recanati ;  he  came  ten 
days  ago.  New  tents  he  wants,  I  think,  for  1 
never  saw  such  a  ragged  fair.  Yonder  are 
our  tents.  Some  have  got  brown  enough,  but 
they  are  all  sound.  Ana  I  will  tell  you,  signer, 
if  ever  you  are  a  captain,  give  your  men  sound 
tents  and  sound  food,  and  teach  them  your 
sword  exercise,  and  never  iinnd  these  new 
artillery  things  :  let  your  men  sleep  well,  feed 
well,  and  fight  well,  and  you  will  win  the 
battle,  though  you  may  make  less  noise.  These 
tents  belore  us  are  yours.  Not  all  your  men, 
but  only  some  put  here,  I  think,  to  be  guards 
over  the  foreign  soldiers.  There  are  not 
many,  you  see,  for  Signer  Cook's  men  will  do 
as  well  ;  but  I  guess  those  Recanati  want  a 
good  guard,  for  you  will  not  see  a  stranger  set 
of  brigands — that  is,  to  the  U)ok.  They  fight 
well  enough  sometimes,  they  say.  Now,  here 
is  Messer  Sebastian's  lodging.  I  will  wait  to 
see  you  again  befi)re  you  go."  "You  will  see 
me  again,  and  often  ;  lor  I  hope  I  shall  not  go." 

The  tent  was  empty,  and  the  youth  wasted 
some  time  alone.  At  length  a  cavalier  entered 
•.     He  was  tall,  and  stout-limbed,  and  clothed 


in  armor  richly  dight  with  gold.  No  visor  was 
on  his  bascinet,  which  showed  a  face  some- 
what flushed  with  the  heat  of  his  arms.  On 
the  front  of  his  jupon  was  blazoned  the  blue 
bend  dexter  on  a  white  field,  of  the  Morosini : 
and  Ranieri  knew  that  it  was  Sebastian  who 
gazed  in  surprise  upon  the  unknown  tenant  ol 
his  lodging. 

"  Messer  Sebastiano,"  said  the  youth,  who 
would  not  mar  his  enterprise  at  the  last  for 
want  of  bold  speaking — "  here  is  one  who 
would  thrust  himself  upon  you  for  a  servant,  if 
you  will  have  him — who  is  ready  to  serve  and 
die  for  you.     I  am  Ranieri  Arduino." 

"Ranieri!     Yoursisterl" 

"  She  is  safe,"  answered  Ranieri,  "  and  hath 
wherewithal  to  live.  I  have  come  to  you, 
Sebastian,  only  for  my  own  sake.  Sebastian, 
Teresa  gave  you  her  faith  :  Teresa  herself  has 
reared  me  :  I  have  come  to  ask  for  your  faith. 
I  have  come  to  you  because  I  dare  not  live  in 
Venice.  I  must  be  secret — so  secret  that  I 
must  not  even  tell  you  what  you  wdl  hear  told 
of  me.  Yet  I  ask  you  for  a  while  to  believe 
me  innocent  in  spite  of  all,  and  to  let  me  stay 
in  your  service.  I  swear  to  you  that  I  shall 
bring  no  disgrace  upon  you,  and  that  Teresa 
shall  one  day  thank  you.     Do  you  believe  mel" 

Sebastian  surveyed  the  boy.  Although  his 
fair  face  was  naturally  ruddier  than  his  sister's, 
and  now  of  a  manly  brown  :  although  his  aciui- 
line  nose,  dark  brown  eyes,  and  rich  curling 
hair  gave  a  more  commanding  beauty  to  his 
aspect,  the  lover  saw  somelliiiig  of  the  same 
earnest  simplicity  that  had  mastered  him  in 
Teresa ;  and  with  a  firm  and  kind  voice  he 
answered,  "  I  will." 

Ranieri  hastily  recounted  much  of  what  had 
befallen  him,  already  known  in  part  to  Sebas- 
tian ;  and  so  far  its  truth  confirmed  the  belief 
of  the  boy's  honesty,  lie  finished  by  saying, 
"And  will  you  take  me  to  be  your  servant !" 

"For  my  brother,  Ranieri.  Say  no  more  :  I 
know  more  than  you  think  is  known,  and  will 
await  the  rest." 

"No,  Sebastian;  not  yet  for  your  brother. 
When  I  can  make  it  known  that  I  am  undis- 
graced,  even  in  seeming,  you  shall  call  me  so ; 
till  then,  if  I  am  your  meanest  servant,  I  have 
more  than  my  right,  and  more  than  I  my&elt 
can  thank  you  for." 

Just  so  Teresa  had  spoken.  Sebastian  an- 
swered, "  Be  it  as  you  will :  you  shall  be  to  me 
my  brother  ;  to  others  my  page :  and  right 
fortunate  am  I  to  gain  so  trusiv  a  friend." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Gre.\t  was  the  consternation  of  the  Vene- 
tians at  the  defenceless  state  of  their  city. 
Many  chargi'd  the  advance  of  the  Genoese  on 
the  ill-used  Pisani,  and  blamed  the  indulgence 
of  the  senate  which  had  released  an  unsuccess- 
ful commander  from  the  iJunishiniMit  of  his 
fault  to  resume  the  lead.  Oihers  hinted,  cau- 
tiously and  stealthily,  at  treachery ;  fearing 
that  the  very  people  they  spoke  to  might  them- 
selves be  the  trailers,  and  revenge  the  suspi- 
cion in  some  dreadful  way.  More  thought  ihej 
read  in  the  reverses  of  their  arms  the  displen 


74 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


sure  of  heaven,  and  the  doom  of  a  sinful  peo- 
ple. It  was  wilh  the  gloomiest  countenances 
that  the  senators  assembled  in  their  spacious 
council-chamber,  to  deliberate  on  the  next  step 
to  be  taken.  Not  a  few  had  come  from  Pisani's 
fleet,  or  from  the  scene  of  war  on  the  sea- 
shore ;  and  under  their  robes  might  be  heard 
the  clank  of  arms,  covered,  as  in  the  last 
meeting  that  we  recorded,  by  the  senatorial 
robes,  but  not  laid  aside.  Among  these  was 
Marco  Morosini.  Erect  he  walked,  and  seldom 
was  his  mien  so  cheerful.  The  large  scar  on 
his  forehead,  still  redder  than  the  skin  around 
it,  was  an  honorable  ensign  of  the  obstinacy 
with  which  he  had  resisted  the  foe  at  Chiozza. 
His  cheeks  were  slightly  tinged  with  a  ruddy 
flush,  so  well  had  the  sea  air  and  camp  life 
cuited  his  health.  The  robe  he  wore  Imng 
open,  and  displayed  the  mail  on  his  breast, 
which  was  cut  and  bent  in  every  part,  but  only 
mended  where  most  he  needed  if.  His  gray 
eyes  flashed  with  more  than  common  fire,  so 
that  to  look  upon  him  raised  the  courage  of 
the  timid. 

When  a  goodly  number  had  assembled,  An- 
drea Contarini  entered  the  hall,  and  walked  to 
his  throne.  He  also  was  upright,  and  his 
swelling  chest  seemed  thrust  out  to  stem  the 
tide  of  troulile.  His  face  was  grave,  but  calm 
and  steadfast,  as  that  of  one  who  knew  the  full 
danger,  but  feared  not  to  meet  all.  The  gray 
hair,  that  showed  the  whiter  for  the  red  cap 
which  covered  it,  was  thinner:  hut  the  snowy 
beard  was  thick  and  deftly  trimmed ;  age 
could  bleach  its  color,  but  could  not  in  the 
smallest  trifle  chill  the  life  and  energy  of  the 
veteran.  He  seated  hiinself  on  the  throne, 
and  for  a  few  moments  surveyed  the  assembly, 
while  the  last  stragglers  were  coming  in  ;  then 
rising  and  speaking  in  a  loud,  firm  voice,  he 
said,  "Most  excellent  fathers,  few  words  will 
tell  you  the  purpose  of  our  meeting.  The  time 
has  come  for  Venice  to  achieve  her  greatest 
glory,  for  now  is  her  danger  greater  than  ever 
it  was.  Our  foe  is  in  the  lagoons  ;  our  ad- 
vanced posts  have  been  passed  ;  our  means 
are  well  nigh  run  out ;  and  nothing  remains  to 
Venice,  but  the  Venetians ;  nothing  but  the 
strength  and  wisdom  of  her  sons.  It  is  your 
part  to  say  how  that  strength  and  wisdom 
sha'i  be  used,  for  all  must  be  used,  or  all  beside 
bo  lost.  You  know  that  the  barrier  at  the 
port  of  Venice  has  been  forced.  How,  we 
know  not ;  but  this  we  know,  that  at  that  post 
there  were  men  more  zealous,  more  faithful 
than  almost  any  in  our  whole  city.  It  was  the 
fort(me  of  war." 

"  Your  pardon,  excellent  prince,"  cried  Mo- 
linn,  rising  with  a  flushed  and  angry  counten- 
ance, his  heavy  loud  voice  ringing  in  the  vault- 
ed roof;  "  your  pardon,  if  I  say  to  you  we  inust 
not  be  so  easily  content  to  lay  the  fault  to  the 
fortune  of  war.  No,  others  must  answer  it  to 
Venice.  AVe  must  not — it  is  no  time  fur  us  to 
dally  with  compliments,  and  parade  our  affec- 
tion and  respect,  while  Venice  is  threatened 
with  destruction.  Be  it  cowardice,  he  it  ill- 
fortune,  he  that  fails  in  her  defence  merits  no 
pardon.  He  is  not  fit  to  be  a  citizen  of  Venice  ; 
hut  he  that  has  been  Venetian  can  be  nothing 
else  in  this  world.  It  were  his  best  fate  to  die. 
Yes,  I  say  it,  though  my  friend  should  be  the 


victim.  There  is  one  yet  who  must  answei  i 
to  Venice — there  he  sits :  I  accuse  him  to  you, 
most  excellent  fathers.  Let  him  defend  him- 
self if  he  can.  I  accuse  him,  my  friend,  Pietro 
di  Bernardo,  of  treachery  to  Venice,  for  that  he 
was  too  weak  in  her  defence." 

A  murmur  arose  as  the  Avogadore  took  his 
seat.  The  doge  had  remained  standing ;  but 
he  also  sat  when  Pietro  di  Bernardo  stood  up. 
The  gay  Pietro  looked  sad  and  downcast,  and 
he  leaned  for  support  on  the  back  of  the  bench 
behind  him.  "  I  do  confess  it,"  he  said,  "  and 
crave  nothing  but  that  the  pleasure  of  the  state 
may  be  done  on  this  worthless  frame.  It  is 
true  that  numbers,  who  had  escaped  our  guards 
at  the  outward  barrier,  poured  upon  us  sudden- 
ly in  the  darkening  day ;  it  is  true,  that  we 
fought  until  the  chains  themselves  gave  way, 
until  our  own  dead  lay  heavy  on  many  who  had 
fallen  and  could  not  rise,  and  our  ov/n  arms 
were  faint  with  the  loss  of  the  blood  that  bathed 
the  waters  as  they  flowed  in  upon  us  ;  but  had 
more  valiant  men  possessed  the  post  that  we, 
in  the  pride  and  ardor  of  love  for  Venice,  had 
thrust  ourselves  upon,  they  might  perchance  bet- 
ter have  resisted  ;  or  if  the  unstable  chains  had 
defeated  even  them,  they  might  somewhat  more 
have  thinned  the  number  of  the  invaders.  Let 
us,  as  we  could  not  serve  Venice  wilh  our  arms, 
serve  her  in  being  examples  of  punishment." 
Ser  Pietro  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

The  doge  lifted  up  his  finger,  and  stilled  the 
murmur.  "Messer  Pietro  di  Bernardo's  grief," 
he  said,  "  is  but  the  testimony  to  the  zeal  and 
devotion  with  which  he  resisted  the  dangers 
that  close  on  Venice.  But  it  is  not  our  part  to 
help  ill  fate  in  destroying  the  number  of  our 
faithful  citizens.  Rather  let  us  devise  the 
means  of  escaping — or  rather  of  thrusting  back 
this  danger  upon  itself  We  must  throw  the 
whole  strength  and  wealth  of  Venice  into  the 
struggle  ;  for  better  were  it  to  spend  all  that 
she  is  worth — to  spend  Venice  herself — than  to 
let  her  fall  a  prize  to  the  Genoese." 

He  was  silent,  and  there  was  a  pause,  when 
Malipiero  rose  and  with  a  pale  face  and  quiver- 
ing lips,  cried — "  Long  enough  have  we  suffer- 
ed this  oppression  ;  too  long  have  we  looked 
to  councds,  and  to  generals,  and  to  common 
stratagems  of  war,  which  settle  nothing.  Let 
us  finish  this.  Let  a  sword  be  put  into  the 
hand  of  every  Venetian,  and  let  us  rush  upon 
our  enemy.  If  man  for  man  be  killed,  enough 
Venetians  will  remain  to  people  these  lagoons, 
and  to  make  the  city  more  terrible  than  ever." 

This  battle  cry  took  the  grave  senate  by  sur- 
prise, and  great  numbers  rose,  shouting  aloud. 
Contarini  again  raised  his  hand,  the  tumult  was 
hushed.  As  the  senators  again  sat  down,  Bar- 
barigo  remained  standing.  "  I  rejoice,  most 
illustrious  prince  and  most  excelleMt  fatliers," 
he  said,  in  a  calm  and  pleasant  voice.  "  at  this 
outburst,  so  unused  in  our  grave  halls.  I  ac- 
cept it  as  proof  that  the  love  of  Venice  and  the 
courage  of  her  sons  are  strong  as  ever.  But  it 
is  not  for  us  here  in  this  senate  to  forget  that 
we  are  something  more  than  soldiers.  It  is  not 
for  us  to  scoff  at  the  manifest  displeasure  of 
Heaven — for  what  but  such  high  displeasure 
could  thus  have  made  the  Venetians  weak  be- 
Ibre  the  Genoese  ;  what  could  have  disarmed 
our  noble  and  most  brave  defender.  Ser  Pietro 


THE   FOSTER  BROTHER. 


75 


(li  Bernardo  ;  what  could  have  prevented  even 
the  powerful  Messer  Vittor  Pisani  from  con- 
quering with  his  accustomed  skill  the  mariner's 
old  enemies — the  winds  and  waves  1  What 
else  has  removed  from  us — we  thought  it  mis- 
chance, but  what  else  than  the  terrible  wrath  of 
God — St.  Mark  and  the  Holy  Virgin  intercede 
for  us  ! — what  else  could  have  removed  from 
us  at  such  a  time,  our  chief  reliance — Messer 
Carlo  Zenol  Heaven  has  taken  from  us  the 
means  of  victory.  We  have  sent  for  our  great 
captain  ;  but  does  not  destruction  march  upon 
the  city,  even  before  he  can  possibly  arrive, 
though  the  Englishman  should  have  outstrip- 
ped the  winds  1  Nay,  do  we  know  that  our 
galley  is  still  above  the  waters^  Did  it  not 
leave  us  in  time  of  storml  They  do  say  too  that 
there  is  treachery  amongst  us — the  English- 
man is  a  stranger — Nay,  nay,  excellent  fathers, 
think  not  that  I  accuse  that  most  noble  stran- 
ger ;  rather  let  me  say  that  such  accusal  is  base 
and  not  to  believed  except  on  proof  But  shall 
we  risk  the  fate  of  all  our  doomed  race  in  defy- 
ing Heaven  I  Is  Venice  all  that  we  possess  ; 
or  are  these  small  islands  in  which  we  are  now 
cooped  up  really  Venice  1  We  are  Venice  ; 
and  Venice  is  where  we  abide.  We  have  fairer 
lands  even  than  this.  Candia  is  ours.  A  new 
empire  might  we  create,  and  Candia,  held  by 
Venice,  would  become  the  centre  of  a  new 
Christian  empire  in  the  east,  rising  where  the 
ancient  one  falls.  Let  us  conquer  by  yielding — 
exchange  Venice  lor  Candia — and  strengthen 
our  sons  to  avenge  the  defeat  which  we  avoid." 

The  senators  looked  at  each  other  in  amaze, 
but  not  altogether  in  displeasure  ;  they  talked 
in  knots.  Contarini  sat  silent,  as  though  watch- 
ing how  the  project  worked.  In  the  general 
move,  Lionardo  Morosini  might  be  seen  to  ap- 
proach his  cousin  and  speak  to  him  earnestly; 
while  Marco  turned  angrily  from  him. 

"  I  do  but  say  what  Messer  Alessandro  would 
have  counselled,"  whispered  Lionardo,  "  had  he 
encountered  you  on  your  landing." 

"  Alessandro  ever  counsels  what  is  most  for 
the  honor  of  Venice  ;  and  he  never,  Messer 
Lionardo,  fails  to  be  convinced  when  I  have 
shown  him  such  reasons  as  now  I  tell  you." 
He  rose  hastily,  and  moving  a  step  or  two  from 
his  cousin,  he  spoke  aloud.  "Let  us  not  be 
cast  down,  most  excellent  prince,  because  our 
perils  are  great ;  for  many  of  you,  most  excel- 
lent fathers,  who  have  been  as  I  have  in  our 
camp,  know  full  well  that  our  citizens  have  lost 
no  jot  of  their  prowess  or  their  fidelity.  No, 
the  fortune  of  war  is  uncertain,  most  noble  sen- 
ators ;  but  our  strength  is  as  great  as  ever  to 
seize  the  next  turn  in  our  favor.  Nor  is  our 
wisdom  so  exhausted  that  we  must  say  we 
have  neither  counsel  nor  strength  left  us  to 
stand  before  our  enemy,  but  must  fly  for  safety 
like  cranes  before  the  hunter.  Have  we  lost 
our  reason  in  the  tumult  of  arms  !  Believe  it 
not.  I  can  say,  that  even  the  fatigues  of  the 
combat  have  not  been  able  to  make  me  sk^ep 
so  hard  at  nights,  but  what  I  could  devise  plans 
for  Venice  and  her  succor.  And  this  is  my 
plan  ;  sharing  in  the  impatience  and  devotion 
»f  the  most  illustrious  and  most  noble  Messer 
Jacopo  Malipiero,  but  less  in  the  fiery  courage 
which  makes  that  puissant  cavalier  so  invmci- 
ble  in  fight.     Let  us  call  upon  the  Venetians 


for  aid  ;  not  by  decree  and  the  force  of  law, 
but  by  the  force  of  honor  and  of  conscience. 
Trust  me,  excellent  fathers,  this  will  bring  far 
greater  succors  than  would  a  forced  subsidy. 
We  will  not  tax  them  at  all,  we  will  not  seize 
upon  a  single  rower ;  but  we  will  ask  them  to 
give,  for  the  love  of  St.  Mark,  of  Venice,  of 
their  wives  and  children.  We  will  promise 
them  renown — renown  for  all ;  profit  for  those 
that  give  freely  ;  and  let  us,  to  save  our  noble 
power,  dispense  some  of  its  honors  to  tliose 
who  most  do  devote  their  substance  to  our 
cause.  To  save  the  roll  of  our  nobility,  by  a 
trifle  extend  it.  High  and  wealthy  merchants 
are  there  in  this  city,  scarcely  less  noble  than 
ourselves,  yet  by  fortune,  not  so  soon  reaching 
this  place  as  we  did  through  our  ancestors,  are 
they  shut  out.  If  they  do  give  what  we  do  to 
preserve  Venice,  they  are  not  less  noble  ;  and 
let  us  call  them  noble.  One  word  more  ;  it 
the  senate  in  its  wisdom  do  judge  to  accept 
the  counsel  of  Messer  Marin  Barbarigo,  one  at 
least  will  never  leave  these  his  native  islands  ; 
but  at  the  foot  of  the  altar  of  Santo  Stefano  shall 
be  found  the  mangled  body  of  him  whose  fore- 
fathers have  worshipped  there  ever  since  the 
church  was  built — whose  name  is  as  old  as  Ve- 
nice, and  fixed  to  the  rocks  on  which  our  man- 
sions stand." 

Loud  was  the  applause ;  and  senator  after 
senator  rose  to  say  that  the  Morosini's  plan  was 
the  wisest.  Malipiero  rushed  across  the  hall, 
and  grasping  Morosini's  hand,  declared  that  he 
had  saved  the  city.  Yet  did  not  Barbarigo's 
party,  though  few  in  number,  so  readily  give 
up  their  counsel;  and  the  debate  was  kept  up 
to  a  late  hour  of  the  day.  At  length,  when 
Andrea  Contarini  was  asked  for  his  judgment, 
he  spoke,  and  said  that  as  each  had  by  turns 
told  his  seeming,  he  thought  each  good  and 
worthy  to  be  done  ;  but  that  Morosini's  was 
the  one  to  do  first,  and  Barbarigo's  last  of  all ; 
therefore,  at  that  present  council,  the  doge 
would  make  choice  of  Morisini's  device.  .Ind 
so  it  was  decreed. 

«^^ 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

The  patriotic  Morosini  had  not  misreckoned 
the  eflect  of  bia  project.  Such  speed  was' 
made,  that  before  night  it  was  proclaimed  in  the 
great  square,  that  Venice,  in  the  extremity  of 
her  peril,  needed  the  aid  of  all  true  citizens  to 
serve  her  by  their  persons  or  substance ;  and 
that  among  those  who  gave  most,  either  of  mo- 
ney or  men,  or  who  best  served  the  state  by 
their  acts,  thirty  men  of  the  people  should  be 
made  nobles  of  the  grand  councd,  they  and 
their  children  forever  ;  that  each  year  for  ever- 
more fifty  thousand  golden  oucats  should  be 
dispensed  among  others  ;  and  that  foreigners 
should  have  a  farther  guerdon,  in  being  admit- 
ted as  citizens  of  Venice  with  all  pnvdegcs 
thereunto  pertaining.  No  rest  was  there  in  the 
city  that  night.  While  some  kept  guard,  others 
met  in  their  houses,  calculating  what  they 
(night  give ;  some  using  their  best  wits  to  dis- 
cover how  little  they  could  keep  for  themselves  ; 
others  to  learn  what  their  neighbors  would  give, 
and  huw  tlieiefore  they  themselves  might  b  ly 


76 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


the  prizes  with  least  cost.  Betimes  on  the 
morrow  Andrea  Contarini  took  his  station  in 
the  hall  of  the  grand  council,  which  was  thrown 
open  to  all  who  chose  to  enter  with  an  offering. 
A  multitude  assembled  at  the  f»ntrance  and  in 
the  great  square  ;  and  as  they  came  and  went 
the  hearers  of  aid  were  loudly  greeted.  The 
first  to  appear  before  the  doge  were  two  tall 
and  stalwart  youths,  whose  mail  and  browned 
faces  showed  that  they  had  already  been  in  the 
light — Donato  Bartolomeo  and  Giovannino,  the 
sons  of  Gtiido  Everardo :  they  came  liand  in 
hand  ;  and  Donato,  with  a  modest  mien,  de- 
clared that  he  and  his  brother  would  give  their 
persons  to  he  disposed  of  at  the  pleasure  of  the 
senate,  with  their  servant,  at  their  own  cost. 
Next  came  two  other  brothers — Marco  and 
Aluise  Boni,  who  promised  in  like  manner  to 
serve  themselves,  and  to  provide  four  bowmen, 
for  two  months.  Others  followed  ;  one  offering 
himself,  another  his  men,  others  the  usual  pay  of 
bowmen  and  rowers,  eight  ducats  and  four  du- 
cats a  month,  for  different  numbers,  and  differ- 
ent periods.  At  lengtli  came  the  venerable 
Bernardino  de'  Garzoni :  after  making  his  obei- 
sance, he  said  :  "  Old  age,  and  the  near  approach 
of  death,  most  illustrious  prince,  make  rne  think 
of  others  that  die  and  of  those  they  leave  behind 
iheiTi ;  and,  therefore,  first  will  I  ofl^er  to  the 
state  two  hundred  ducats  of  gold  to  give  to  the 
widows  and  children  of  the  poor  soldiers  who 
are  slain.  That  said,  I  will  ask  you  to  take  part 
of  what  I  possess  through  the  strength  and  pro- 
tection of  this  city — sufl^er  me  to  pay  for  one 
month  all  the  bowmen  in  your  own  galley,  and 
all  the  bowmen  of  twenty-five  galleys  for  half 
that  time."  The  doge  smiled,  and  bowed  his 
head,  thinking  that  the  aged  citizen  had  done  ; 
hut  he  continued — "Farther,  I  would  offer  all 
the  profits  that  come  to  me  for  moneys  that  I 
have  lent.  There  are  not  a  few  small  boats 
that  I  have,  which  are  not  worth  mention,  but 
that  they  may  serve  some  use.  Lastly — would 
I  were  richer — I  do  yield  up  to  the  state  the  two 
sons  already  at  Lido,  and  the  third,  my  young 
Giovannino,  who  will  soon  arrive  from  Bo- 
logna." 

"  I  begin,  Messer  Bernardino,"  said  the  doge, 
with  a  pleasant  smile,  "  to  make  sure  of  victory, 
and  to  think  that  both  <if  us  may  yet  live  to 
hear  the  sounds  of  triumph  once  more  resound- 
ing in  Venice." 

More  followed,  until  Donado  da  Ca,  supported 
by  a  youth,  hi.«  servant,  painfully  approached  the 
steps  before  the  throne,  and  in  a  feeble  voice 
declared  that  he  would  provide  ten  bowmen  for 
two  months  ;  saying,  "  More  would  I  give,  and 
these  poor  arms  should  still  combat  for  Venice  ; 
but  all  tiiat  mv  poor  means  could  furnish  was 
spent  for  my  r-insorn  wlien  I  was  taken  prisoner 
in  the  last  wa*^  with  the  Lord  of  Padua  ;  and  for 
myself,  the  worst  was  done  when  these  limbs 
were  for  ever  made  unfit  to  serve  my  country, 
for  they  put  w".  to  the  torture." 

"  I  came,"  said  Marco  Storlado,  "  to  ofl"er  my 
son  and  twenty  bowmen  ;  but,  in  place  of  this 
my  good  fri'^nd  Donado,  I  also  will  go  with 
twenty  <.ilier  bowmen  ;  so  that  M(\sser  Fran- 
ce3(U)  shall  j'ain  little  by  spoiling  one  Venetian  " 

"  Weil  eiiid,  good  Storlado,"  cried  Raflain 
Caresini,  the  grand  chancellor,  rising  from  his 
•eat;  '-'aiid  besides   that  my  brother  is  going 


with  our  bowmen,  I  will  give  five  hundred,  and 
he  shall  give  three  hundred  ducats  of  gold,  for 
the  sake  of  Messer  Donado." 

"Good  sirs,"  said  Donado,  "I  did  never 
think  to  find  my  maiming  a  source  of  riches,  as 
now  it  is;  and  I  would  be  tortured  often  and 
again,  could  my  agony  always  bear  such  sweet 
fruits." 

"  Then,"  said  Matteo  Fasuolo,  advancing, 
"  do  I  hope  that  my  poverty  may  yet  serve  the 
state  :  in  ransom  and  in  ventures  seized  at  sea, 
the  Genoese  have  taken  all  that  I  had,  so  that 
the  very  house  I  lived  in  T  sold  to  pay  my  poor 
mariners.  Some  kind  friends  have  fed  me  of 
their  good  bounty  ;  I  am  so  very  poor  that 
nought  have  I  but  this  body,  not  yet  quite  past 
service  ;  and  I  do  hope,  most  illustrious  prince, 
that  Venice  will  vouchsafe  to  take  it,  for  it  is  all 
I  have  to  give." 

"  You  have  given  more  than  any  yet,"  said 
Contarini ;  "  and  you  shall  tell  me  your  name  ; 
for  we  will  set  it  down  as  that  of  the  first  that 
gave  his  all." 

Marco  Morosini  rose  from  his  seat,  and  said 
aloud  :  "  I  take  shame  to  myself,  Messer  lo 
Doge,  for  that  I,  who  did  recommend  that  we 
should  give  to  Venice  all  we  could,  have  given 
less  than  the  most  generous  of  us  all — this  wor- 
thy citizen,  whose  name  I  know  not." 

"  It  is  Matteo  Fasuolo,"  shouted  many  voices  ; 
while  Morosini  approached  and  took  his  hand. 
"  I  cannot,"  said  the  senator,  "  offer  so  much  as 
Messer  Matteo  Fasuolo  ;  for  my  palace,  my 
wealth,  my  kindred — they  are  not  mine,  but 
belong  to  my  house.  But  in  shame  at  his  no- 
ble offering  will  I  give  all  that  is  mine — all  my 
moneys  and  wealth  shall  be  at  the  use  and  ser- 
vice of  the  state  while  the  war  lasts." 

"Viva  Marco  Morosini !"  shouted  those  who 
filled  the  hall,  patrician  and  plehian. 

Morosini  still  stood  beside  Fasuolo,  when  a 
woman,  closely  veiled,  drew  near  the  throne 
steps.  She  was  tall,  and  her  walk  was  digni- 
fied ;  yet  a  certain  timid  doubt  seemed  to  arrest 
her  footsteps.  Bowing  to  the  doge,  she  held 
forth  a  sinall  bag  which  seemed  to  be  of  some 
weight.  The  doge  motioned  for  an  attendant 
to  take  it,  and  the  woman  was  about  to  retire, 
when  the  voice  of  the  prince  made  her  slop. 

"  Is  this  a  gift  to  the  state,  lady,  or  is  it  by 
some  mistake  that  you  bring  it  here?" 

"  It  is  gold,  my  lord,  I  think,"  said  the  man 
who  had  taken  it. 

"  But  is  it  your  wish  that  it  should  be  a  gift  T" 
said  the  doge,  still  speaking  to  the  woman. 

"  It  is  for  the  state,"  she  answered. 

That  voice  !  it  thrilled  through  Morosini  with 
a  strange  feeling  of  anger  and  re-awakened 
desire;  for,  though  low  and  faltering,  he  knew 
it  to  be  Teresa's. 

"But  as  a  gift  or  a  loan  1"  asked  the  doge. 

"  Neither.  It  is  the  state's  already  ;  and  yet 
it  was  hardly  and  nobly  earned.  My  lord,  I 
would  say  no  more,  but  that  it  is  the  state's. 
Some  day  you  shall  be  asked  to  remember  that 
eighty-eight  pieces  of  gold  were  this  day  given 
to  the  state." 

She  was  retiring  ;  when  Morosini,  with  a  half- 
formed  impulse  to  make  her  disclose  herself, 
partly  through  revenge,  partly  to  bring  her  again 
into  his  power,  cried — "Stay,  my  lord;  per- 
chance this  fair  lady  ofl^ers  to  the  stale  what  is 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


77 


not  her's  to  give.     It  may  be  that  I  could  tell 
her  history." 

Teresa  turned  round,  and  shrunk  as  she  re- 
cognized him. 

"  How  is  this  T'  asked  Contarini. 

"Spare  me,  my  lord,"  she  cried  :  "I  came, 
trusting  to  the  sacred  purpose  of  this  day  for 
protection.  What  I  have  done  has  been  for  the 
justification  of  the  injured  and  the  dead  ;  but  do 
not  because  I  am  defenceless  make  me  expose 
myself  to  what  would  now  be  shame,  though  it 
shall  one  day  be  honor." 

"  You  speak  fair,  lady  ;  and  yet  your  right  to 
give  this  oflering  is  challenged  ;  and  by  one  of 
such  high  regard,  that  it  needs  some  stretch  of 
faith  to  accept." 

"  Alas  !  my  right  to  give  it  is  but  too  simple  : 
there  is  none  else  to  claim  that  miserable  gold. 
Let  your  faith  go  so  far,  noble  prince.  Your 
hair  has  grown  white,  and  yet  in  your  counte- 
nance I  see  the  kindness  of  young  faith  and 
the  unfaded  light  of  hope  ;  therefore  you  should 
have  lived  long  enough  to  know  how  truth  will 
abide  and  grow  even  where  there  is  suspicion, 
or  even  vileness  most  foul ;  as  in  rude  nature, 
the  flower  is  hidden  among  weeds.  And  if 
Messer  Morosini,"  she  added,  drawing  herself 
up,  and  speaking  to  him  with  a  firmer  voice, 
"  who  has  guessed  my  humble  self,  must  needs 
make  me  known,  and  all  my  misfortunes,  let 
him  not  think  that  I  will  tremble  in  telling  to 
Venice,  before  its  doge,  my  poor  history.  Suffer 
me  to  depart." 

"You  shall  receive  no  hurt,  young  maid," 
said  the  doge,  "  and  shall  depart  at  once,  taking 
with  you  your  gold." 

"Nay,  keep  that;  I  disclaim  it.  It  is  not 
mine." 

"  Why  now  yoii  puzzle  us  ;  for  if  it  is  not 
yours,  vou  may  not  give  it,  and  we  may  not 
take  it.  See  you  none  here  that  would  be 
sponsor  for  you." 

"  Alas  !  no." 

"  That  will  I  be,"  said  a  man  who  stepped 
between  Teresa  and  Morosini.  At  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  both  started  as  though  it  had  been 
some  unearthly  sound  :  it  was  Sebastian  ! 
Morosini's  pale  face  grew  paler;  he  clenched 
his  hands  and  teeth,  and  stepping  forward  again 
was  about  to  speak  ;  but  his  son's  stern  regard 
arrested  him.  He  folded  his  arms,  in  silence, 
tightly  embracing  himself  to  master  his  panting 
rage.  Teresa  clasped  her  hands,  and  cried  to 
Sebastian,  in  a  hurried  whisper,  "  Not  now — 
not  here!  Sebastian,  meddle  not  with  this." 

"The  riddle  grows  more  difllcult,"  said  the 
doge.  "  What  has  brought  Messer  Sebastian 
to  play  so  strange  a  part  in  it  ]" 

"  My  lord,  I  am  from  Pelestrina,  with  a  mes- 
sage for  your  private  ear.  This  is  no  time  for 
disputes  amongst  ourselves.  We  should  for- 
get them.  Enough  that  I  will  answer  for  this 
lady  with  my  life." 

"But  know  you  on  what  quarreU  I  cannot 
suspect  ill  of  one  that  hath  so  sweet  a  voice 
and  speaks  so  well ;  and  were  I  here  but  as 
Andrea  Contarini,  I  would  take  this  oflering 
which  she  has  made  for  the  state  as  most  vir- 
tuously given  :  but  it  is  your  father  that  ac- 
cuses her,  and  says  that  it  is  none  of  hers." 

"  Doth  the  lady  say  that  the  gold  is  hers  1" 

'She  does,  and  she  does  not." 


"  Then  my  lord,  believe  that  it  is  hers  to  give, 
but  not  to  keep." 

"  But  your  father?" 

"  He  says  nothing,  my  lord.  He  spoke  know- 
ing less  than  I  do." 

"  How  say  you,  Messer  Morosini"!" 

"  That  if  a  son  knows  not  when  it  is  unseem- 
ly to  gainsay  his  parent,  the  parent  should  stay 
that  ugly  sight  by  leaving  the  quarrel.  I  say 
no  more;  my  lord."  Morosini  spoke  in  a  low 
and  muffled  voice ;  and  turning  round  he  left 
the  hall. 

The  man  that  held  the  bag  looked  towards  the 
doge,  as  if  for  his  order;  and  the  prince,  ad- 
dressing Teresa,  said — "And  now,  fair  damsel, 
do  you  still  will  that  we  should  keep  this  goldl 

Her  voice  told  that  she  was  in  tears.  "  It 
has  been  accursed,  even  to  this  last  moment 
that  I  have  had  ought  to  do  with  it ;  but  it  is 
shameless,  and  will  be  blessed  for  Venice's 
sake.  Keep  it,  my  lord:  and  say  of  it,  not 
thanks,  but  that  it  is  welcome." 

"  It  is  welcome.  May  you  be  happy,  my 
daughter." 

"  My  lord,"  said  Sebastian,  "  I  divine,  though 
I  know  not  why  the  ofl^ering  is  made;  but  Ve- 
nice shall  one  day  know  why,  and  for  whom  I 
have  thus  strangely  been  sponsor.  Meanwhile, 
that  which  I  have  to  tell  you,  brooks  no  delay : 
suffer  me  to  see  this  lady  properly  guarded  to 
her  home,  and  then  to  attend  on  you." 

"  Do  so ;  you  shall  find  me  anon  in  my  pri- 
vate room." 

Sebastian  took  Teresa,  still  veiled,  by  the 
hand,  and  led  her  from  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Turning  to  the  right  as  they  left  the  palace, 
Sebastian  directed  his  way  with  Teresa  to  one 
of  the  smaller  canals,  hoping  to  find  a  boat  to 
carry  her  homeward  without  being  too  much 
noted.  They  did  not  altogether  escape  unseen. 
A  man,  loitering  among  the  idle  crowd,  started 
angrily  as  they  passed  him,  and  pressed  for- 
ward tfi  stop  their  way,  but  he  could  not  make 
a  path  through  the  press  until  they  had  got  be- 
yond. When  he  was  free,  the  man  looked 
after  them,  and  seemed  to  change  his  mind ; 
for  instead  of  hastening  to  address  them,  he 
slowly  followed,  stealthily  dogging  their  steps. 
At  the  water's  edge  Sebastian  sto!)d,  and  h)(;k- 
ed  up  and  down  the  canal ;  on  which  their  pur- 
suer came  up,  asked  if  it  was  a  boat  they 
sought,  and  he  ran  off  to  seek  one.  Running 
towards  the  canal  of  St.  Mark,  the  man  hurriedly 
looked  around.  He  was  choice  in  his  mood, 
for  instead  of  hailing  the  nearest  boat,  he  pass- 
ed to  one  a  little  farther  on. 

"Tonio!"  he  cried,  breathless  with  running 
and  his  eagerness,  "  wouldst  earn  a  ducat  or 
two]  Give  me  your  place  then,  and  let  me  go 
with  your  good  fellow.  Dost  not  know  me — • 
dost  not  remember  Nadale,  honest  Nadalei  Be 
assured  of  your  money — I  will  pay  you  in  gen- 
tleman fashion." 

"And  who  will  be  your  surety.  Master  Na- 
dale 1" 

"My  surety]  I  myself  will  be  it,  for  I  will  go 
with  you  or  your  fellow.  But  despatch,  good 
Tonio." 


78 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


"Why  then  Pictro  here  shall  give  you  his 
place,  and  I  will  go  myself,"  answered  Tonio. 

Pietro  oheyed  ;  Nadale  jumped  in,  and  in  a 
minute  the  boat  stood  ready  to  receive  the  pair 
that  awaited  it.  Having  taken  his  seat,  and 
turned  his  regard  fur  a  moment  from  his  com- 
panion, Sebastian  glanced  at  the  boatman  that 
nad  been  so  ready  in  his  service.  The  face 
was  not  unknown  to  him,  and  though  he  could 
not  tell  where  he  had  seen  it,  it  occasioned 
some  disquiet  to  him.  The  insolent  bully, 
whom  he  had  surprised  in  Bianca's  room,  whom 
he  had  struck  down  in  the  place  of  St.  Mark, 
was,  indeed,  little  to  be  known  in  the  new  boat- 
man ;  that  terrible  blow  of  the  outraged  lover's 
fist  had  so  battered  the  ruffian's  jaw.  that  it  had 
been  ill  to  mend,  and  stood  all  askew  ;  the  rug- 
ged beard  swerved  aside  as  though  it  were  for 
ever  blown  by  a  strong  wind  ;  the  brutal  fea- 
tures were  sharpened,  but  not  softened  by  sick- 
ness ;  an  ashy  paleness  lent  a  more  deadly  ex- 
pression to  the  natural  villainy  of  the  face  ;  the 
sunken  eyes,  the  lids  dragged  somewhat  to  one 
side  with  the  hoisting  of  the  jaw,  glared  under 
the  contracted  brow  with  a  more  settled  malig- 
nity ;  and  the  once  sturdy  bravo  would  have 
been  ashamed  to  own  this  goal  hospital  creature 
for  his  counterpart.  Sebastian  had  doubted  his 
own  faint  memory,  and  imputed  his  dislike  to 
nought  but  the  man's  sinister  looks.  He  dis- 
trusted hirn  enough,  however,  to  prevent  going 
nearer  to  Teresa's  house  than  midway  up  the 
Canareggio  ;  where  he  gave  their  conductor  a 
ducat,  and  they  landed.  Nadale  watched  them 
as  they  walked  away  ;  then  looking  for  an  in- 
stant at  the  coin,  he  threw  it  to  Tonio,  jumped 
ashore  and  followed.  He  saw  them  enter  the 
house. 

Once  more  alone  with  Sebastian,  Teresa  took 
his  hand,  and  smiling  sadly,  she  kissed  it. 
"  You  will  think,  my  Sebastian,  it  is  so  dear  to 
me  to  be  saved  by  you,  that  I  wantonly  make 
the  need  for  it.  But  chide  me  not.  That  mis- 
erable gold  weighed  upon  my  heart ;  and  there 
seemed  no  way  but  one  to  repair  my  poor  fa- 
ther's mo.st  cruel,  but  most  generous  fault." 

"  Chide  you,  my  sweet  life  !  when  I  chide 
thesun  for  shining,  oryou  for  loving.  But  these 
dangers  ever  remind  me  that  while  I  am  away, 
you  are  defencele.ss  —  and  how  defenceless! 
Be  it  so  no  more.  Taking  counsel  with  myself, 
I  have  devised  a  way  to  place  you  in  safety. 
Of  all  my  friends,  none  is  so  noble  and  so  pow- 
erful as  Messer  Carlo  Zeno,  and  none  of  such 
perfect  generosity.  Know,  too,  that  he  has  a 
wife  worthy  of  himself — a  Justiniani ;  as  indeed, 
the  first  was  loo  ;  for  how  could  he  join  himself 
to  what  were  unworthy?  And  so  the  great 
lady  of  Greece,  who  wooed  his  early  love  in 
honor  of  his  young  deeds,  and  the  noble  Vene- 
tian lady,  whom  afterwards  he  chose  to  be  the 
solace  of  his  ripor  years, — both  were  such  as 
befits  Zeno.  Madonna  Caterina,  whom  I  know 
well,  is  a  most  discreet  and  noble  lady.  Let 
me  lake  you  to  her,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  true 
love  and  service  that  I  render  to  her  consort, 
she  will  afford  you  safety  and  protection.  Say 
that  it  shall  be  so,  and  we  will  again  depart  at 
once." 

Teresa  did  not  answer  for  a  little  while,  but 
looked  down,  musing;  and  then  raising  her 
eyes,  she  said — "  It  must  not  be  so.  Sebastian. 


It  may  be  that  a  time  shall  come  when  you  may 
own  me,  though  still  unfortunate  and  disgraced 
before  the  world  ;  but  let  that  not  happen  with- 
out need.  Perchance,  when  Venice  has  recov- 
ered from  these  perils,  the  voice  of  justice  and 
of  the  humble  may  be  heard,  and  my  father  may 
disprove  his  false  accusers  :  but  not  till  then — 
or  at  least,  not  while  you  have  trouble  enough 
of  arms  and  dangers — not  while  Venice  needs 
you  with  all  your  high  renown,  unsullied  by 
taint  of  suspicion,  shall  you  lead  forth  the  trait- 
or's daughter.  Meanwhile,  here  I  am  safe  un- 
known ;  and  with  Rosa's  watchful  care — so 
faithful,  so  hold,  so  gentle,  I  am  safe  from  harm. 
Believe  me,  I  will  not  tempt  danger  again  ;  so 
chide  me  not  in  the  guise  of  offering  safety  to 
be  bought  with  harm  to  you." 

Nor  could  all  Sebastian's  tender  urgency  drive 
her  from  her  resolve ;  which  she  justified  as  he 
departed,  with  new  protestations  that  she  would 
thenceforth  keep  close  in  her  asylum  until  he 
should  return  again. 

When  he  went  forth,  was  it  the  same  evil- 
eyed  boatman  that  he  saw  skulking  away  at  a 
distance  I 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

The  year  1380  opened  upon  the  Venetians 
with  the  most  adverse  prospects.  In  the  long 
and  tedious  war,  although  their  resistance  had 
been  brave  and  powerful,  the  Genoese  had  upon 
the  whole,  gained  ground,  inch  by  inch ;  Chi- 
ozza  they  had  so  long  held  that  it  might  almost 
be  considered  a  Genoese  town  ;  and  the  whole 
of  Brondolo  was  theirs.  Thus,  supported  as 
they  were,  by  Carrara  on  the  main  land,  they 
had  become  something  like  a  strong  and  con- 
terminous power,  such  as  had  nev^r  belore 
menaced  the  Venetians  ;  whose  only  powerful 
neighbors  hitherto  had  been  landsmen,  and  ut- 
terly incapable  of  coping  with  them  on  the  sea. 
Within  the  lagoon,  and  behind  Brondolo  the  in- 
truding enemy  had  also  a  marine  force  supported 
by  that  which  it  retained  within  the  port  of 
Chiozza  ;  some  time  since,  a  landing  had  been 
effected  on  the  island  of  Malamocco  ;  and  the 
extent  of  ground  within  the  power  of  the 
Genoese  had  gradually  extended  itself;  we 
have  already  seen  how  by  the  treachery  which 
sapped  the  strength  of  the  Venetians,  a  part  of 
the  marine  force  of  their  foe  had  penetrated 
through  the  barriers  into  the  port  of  Venice. 
The  long  line  of  islands  which  separated  its 
peaceful  waters  from  the  Adriatic,  and  really 
constituted  the  wall  of  the  city,  had  been  over- 
passed and  nothing  now  remained  between  its 
palaces  and  the  enemy  ;  its  treasury  was  empty 
until  recruited  by  the  bold  measure  which  the 
senate  had  adopted.  Its  means  of  defence  were 
still  numerous ;  no  power  could  easily  have 
seized  the  city  itself,  peopled  as  it  was  by  a 
race  which  considered  itself  at  least  equal  to 
any  in  the  world,  and  whose  pride  and  daring 
were  strengthened  as  the  danger  increased  ;  the 
nobles  alone  would  have  formed  a  band  of  Im- 
mortals sufficient  to  defend  the  canals  againsi 
any  invaders  for  many  a  day;  to  say  nothing 
of  the  forces  scattered  over  the  island  the 

east  of  the  lagoon  ;  the  greater  pari  of     i;>la- 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


78 


mocco  was  covered  by  the  fortificatior/S,  partly 
of  stone,  but  more  of  wood,  which  had  been 
hastily  extended  to  shut  out  the  invaders,  and 
eviiry  point  was  in  possession  of  a  numerous 
foice,  chiefly  supplied  by  the  Venetians  them- 
selves, with  whom  the  small  town  of  the  island 
Wis  filled.  We  have  seen  how  by  that  success- 
ful treachery  which  vitiated  their  councils  an 
important  post  had  been  entrusted  to  the  Con- 
douiere  Roberto  da  Recanati,  though  the  jeal- 
ous policy  of  the  Venetians  had  stationed  a 
band,  whose  red  sleeves  and  fresh  color  showed 
them  to  belong  to  the  little  army  headed  by  the 
Englishman,  William  Cooke,  as  a  guard  over 
the  more  wily  mercenary.  Great  part  of  the 
republic's  army,  however,  was  posted  on  the 
long  littorale  of  Pelestrina,  which  stretched 
from  Malamocco  to  the  port  of  Chiozza  ;  the 
intervals  between  the  fort  at  the  northern  end 
of  the  island,  and  the  fortified  camp  which  lay 
about  midway,  and  thence  onward  to  the  south 
<vas  filled  up  with  hastily  constructed  towers 
of  wood  or  stone,  connected  by  palisadoes  and 
trenches  which  received  constant  additions, 
not  interrupted  by  those  petty  skirmishes  be- 
tween straggling  bands,  and  crossing  galleys, 
to  which  the  war  had  now  dwindled  ;  the  Gen- 
oese thinking  to  wear  out  the  besieged. 

On  this  island  lay  the  worst  danger  of  the 
Venetians.  Their  treasury  was  low,  and  the 
mercenary  troops  that  now  thronged  it  began 
already  to  clamor,  and  to  say,  that  if  Venice 
could  not  pay  for  its  salvation,  Genoa  would 
buy  the  city.  The  troops  had  been  as  much  as 
possible  disposed  in  separate  bands,  with  small 
bodies  of  Venetian  soldiers,  picked  for  their 
courage  and  constancy,  placed  between  them  ; 
while  the  high  repute  of  da  Recanati  had  also 
induced  the  senate  to  /mpose  a  share  of  that 
duty  on  him.  Tb*^  more  discontented  of  the 
soldiery  were  posted  about  the  chief  camp  in 
the  centre  of  the  rest,  cut  off  from  communica- 
tion with  the  Genoese.  To  the  south  of  the 
camp  had  been  collected  a  strong  force,  where 
was  stationed  Marco  Morosini,  and  with  him 
was  a  small  guard  of  native  soldiers  ;  to  the 
right  were  seen,  ever  alert,  the  ruddy  warriors 
whom  William  Cooke  commanded,  with  red 
vests,  well  burnished  arms,  and  the  long  bows 
of  their  country;  to  the  left  was  the  flower  of 
Recanati's  band,  gathered  from  every  part  of 
the  Italian  Peninsula — the  Neapolitan  might  be 
known  by  his  big  stature  and  indolent  bearing  ; 
the  Florentine  by  his  compact  and  active  figure  ; 
the  Piedmonlese  by  his  height  and  presence. 

Instead  of  occupying,  as  many  of  the  leaders 
did,  one  of  the  houses  scattered  about  the 
island,  and  assumed  for  the  occasion  by  the 
senate  as  the  properly  of  the  state,  iMarco 
Morosini  chose  tlie  more  soldierly  plan  of  pitch- 
ing his  tent  at  the  post  of  duty.  A  large  pa- 
vilion— capacious,  that  his  military  state  might 
be  amply  furnished,  but  bare  of  all  that  savored 
of  ornament,  had  become  his  dwelling.  Here, 
on  the  last  night  of  the  year,  was  the  senator- 
warrior  sealed  at  a  small  table,  illumined  amid 
the  darkness  around  by  a  single  lamp.  Ho  had 
been  telling  his  project  for  recruiting  the  treas- 
ury of  the  city.  Near  the  same  table  sat  Se- 
bastian, whom  Pisani  had  made  his  father's 
lieutenant,  little  knowing,  as  perchance  he 
would  little    have  heeded,   the   feud   between 


father  and  son  ;  on  the  opposite  side  were  two 
men  who  seemed  drawn  together  by  the  force 
of  contrast.  One,  who  sat  upright  in  his  chair, 
with  one  hand  firmly  clenched  on  his  sword- 
hilt,  where  it  had  lain  motionless  throughout 
Morosini's  story,  was  not  much  above  the  mid- 
dle height,  but  compact  and  neatly,  if  not  ele- 
gantly made;  the  mail  which  clothed  his  broad 
shoulders,  left  bare  a  throat  whiter  than  many 
a  Venetian  maid's,  and  the  closely  cropped  hair 
was  of  a  sandy  yellow,  approaching  to  red  as  it 
ran  into  his  whiskers  and  beard  ;  his  round 
features  and  laughing  blue  eyes,  gave  a  good 
natured  expression  to  his  face,  which  was  sub- 
dued, but  not  disguised,  by  the  grave  bearinjj 
of  a  military  commander  ;  and  the  frank  coun- 
tenance at  once  bespoke  that  generous  faith 
which  made  William  Cooke  as  well  trusted  by 
the  Venetians  as  any  of  their  own  race.  Next 
to  him  was  the  no  less  famous  Captain  Roberto 
da  Recanati,  whose  tall  frame  resting  partly 
against  the  table  and  partly  against  the  back  of 
his  chair,  seemed  rather  that  of  a  lady's  gallant 
than  of  the  hardiest  soldier  of  the  time ;  not, 
indeed  but  what  strength  was  manifest  in  his 
mail-clad  chest,  and  daring,  or  even  audacity  in 
his  countenance  ;  but  the  short  black  curls  that 
shaded  his  brow,  the  well  trimmed  silken  beard 
and  penciled  eyebrows,  and  the  soft  voice 
seemed  formed  rather  to  impress  and  to  per- 
suade than  to  command  ;  his  long  limbs  were 
elegant  and  slender,  even  to  an  appearance  of 
weakness  and  effeminacy,  and  his  narrow  hand 
and  tapering  fingers  seemed  better  suited  to  the 
jeweled  rings  they  wore  than  to  the  hilt  of  the 
long  sword  by  his  side;  his  features  were  small 
and  delicate,  but  a  long  and  slightly  aquiline 
nose  and  compressed  lips,  gave  the  character 
of  a  manly  firmness  to  his  face  ;  his  large  black 
eyes  were  somewhat  shut,  and  being  set  close 
under  the  brow,  with  a  sharp  and  watchful  as- 
pect, they  imparted  to  the  sleek  form  of  his 
outline  the  expression  of  a  serpent  ;  and  so  he 
was  esteemed  ;  daring  above  all  in  fight,  Rob- 
erto da  Recanati  was  a  serpent  in  council ;  but 
accounted  unbroken  in  faith  to  those  who  bought 
the  services  of  his  band,  none  possessed  higher 
fame  for  the  honor  of  a  condotliere.  He  too 
had  listened  to  Morosini  with  motionless  atten- 
tion. 

"And  thus,"  said  the  senator,  as  he  finished, 
"  thus,  Messer  da  Recanati,  will  we  Venetians 
satisfy  the  clamors  of  those  soldiers  who  serve 
Venice  for  money,  and  not  for  love." 

"  Say  it,  Messer  Morosini,"  replied  the  con- 
dotliere, with  a  smile,  "  not  of  those  before  you. 
Our  men  heed  little  of  the  cares  of  stale  ;  and 
those  who  command,  you  know,  must  also  serve 
their  followers." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it  well,"  answered  Moro- 
sini. "  I  know,  Messer  da  Recanati,  that  in  you 
and  in  our  English  friend,  the  state  has  faithful 
servants,  and  that  money  little  sways  you.  It 
speaks,  indeed,  your  power  over  your  men,  that 
you  have  so  long  kept  them  silent,  while  the 
state,  which  once  paid  so  freely,  has  withheld 
from  them  their  due.  It  tells  us  how  the  for- 
tunes of  Venice  have  fallen,  wjicn  Roberto  da 
Recanati's  men  begin  to  reproach  her  with  her 
poverty ;  and  I  do  wonder  that  these  sturdy 
Englishmen  have  not  done  the  like." 

"You  have  paid  us.  Messer  Morosini,"  said 


80 


THK  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


(A)oke  ,  "in  advance  :  so  generous  has  the  senate 
been  to  us.  who  have  so  often  served  you,  that 
we  may  yet  go  on  for  some  time  more  hefore 
we  begin  to  give  you  credit  in  our  trade.  Tliere- 
fore,  pray  you,  tell  the  senate,  that  in  striving 
for  money  in  these  hard  times,  it  may  leave  out 
ihe  men  of  William  Cooke.  And  rather  will  I 
myself  give  some  little  treasure  that  is  mine, 
than  take  from  Venice  what  it  can  so  ill  give." 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  Recanati,  "you  may  say  as 
much  for  me  ;  though  my  servants  do  not  follow 
nie  quite  so  blindly  as  Messer  Gugliehno's.  Bui, 
Messer  ]\Iorosini,  have  you  told  this  device  of 
yours  to  your  (riend  Alessandro  ]" 

"  No  ;  why  ask  you  1" 

"  For  many  reasons.  And  first,  to  know 
■vhether  he  would  think  it  wise  that  you  should 
.surrender  so  much,  unless  some  good  were  to  be 
bought  by  it.  And  next,  to  know  how  soon  you 
i-an  make  your  citizens  give  all  you  ask.  I  doubt 
it— I  doubt  whether  their  generosity  will  equal 
\oiirs;  and  whether,  even  were  they  so  gene- 
rous, they  could  find  their  gold  so  fast  as  your 
Iriends  here  in  Pelestrina  will  ask  it.  Remem- 
ber, .Messer  Morosini,  it  was  not  my  men  that 
asked  at  first — it  is  not  my  men  that  call  out 
most  greedily  ;  but  that  here,  in  Pelestrina,  have 
}  on  some  thousands,  whom  you  have  hemmed 
in  like  prisoners,  lest  they  themselves  should 
take  boat,  and  seize  the  senate  house  in  pledge 
ior  repayment.  Remember  that  this  night  has 
been  fi.\ed  by  many  of  the  captains  as  the  last 
ilay  to  which  they  will  wait.  And  here,  while 
we  sit,  before  the  sun  begins  to  sink,  may  we 
expect  to  hear  the  shouts  of  some  new  multi- 
tude, demanding  that  Venice  should  yield  in  this 
hopeless  wa^.  It  is  a  hopeless  war.  I  still  say 
that  I  will  serve  you  ;  but  I  serve  against  hope. 
But  if  I  dared  to  say  it,  all  the  danger  that  Ve- 
nice has  braved  might  be  stopped  at  once,  were 
some  better  and  discreeter  man  to  lead  her 
councils." 

Sebastian  started  to  his  feet.  "What  words 
are  these,  Messer  da  Recanati? — and  who  has 
taught  them  to  you]  Treason  is  indeed  ripe 
ainong  us,  when  it  begins  to  speak  in  the 
mouths  of  our  soldiers  and  captains.  Who  has 
been  teaching  you,  Messer  Condottiere  1" 

Slightly  turning  his  head,  but  keeping  the 
quiet  softness  of  his  voice,  da  Recanati  replied, 
■•  Be  less  impatient,  Messer  Sebastiano.  We 
often  say  things  little  discreet;  but  I  believe 
none  have  taught  me  any  more  than  yourself 
We  all  have  a  choice,  and  I  have  taken  mine, 
which  is  to  serve  Venice." 

"True,  true,"  cried  Morosini,  "and  faithfully. 
There  have  been  many  who  do  say  that  Andrea 
Contarini  served  Venice  better  when  he  was 
younger.  But  we  listen  not  to  these  things, 
Messer  da  Recanati  ;  and  if  you  hear  this  said, 
count  it  only  said  by  the  foolish.  Here  in  Ve- 
nice, I  doubt  much  whether  any  Venetian  could 
so  far  forget  his  birth.  And  our  soldiers  are  not 
traitors.  We  have  hired  ihem,  and  it  is  the  na- 
turalcst  thing  in  the  world,  that  if  they  do  not 
receive  their  hire,  they  should  forget  their  duty. 
But  give  me  your  aid,  Messer  da  Recanati — and 
you,  Messer  Guglielmo,  to  pacify  these  men  for 
two  more  days  ;  and  if  in  that  time,  I  do  not 
bring  you  some  gold,  and  more  promises,  take 
me  in  pledge,  and  tear  me  to  pieces  among  you. 
To  you,  Messer  Sebastiano,  I  have  permission 


to  leave  this  post ;  and  certain  do  I  feel,  that 
with  a  son  of  our  house  it  must  be  safely  en- 
trusted." So  saying,  he  arose  ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  was  speeding  his  way  towards  the 
meeting  of  the  senate,  for  which  he  had  been 
summoned. 

The  day  was  black,  and  there  was  little  stir 
among  the  Genoese.  They  see.Tied  disposed  to 
leave  their  work  to  be  pertormed  by  the  trouble 
and  treachery  working  airiong  the  Venetians; 
and  they  did  not  altogether  count  wrongly.  The 
murmurs  which  had  been  heard  on  every  side  in 
Pelestrina  increased  as  night  advanced  ;  as  Se- 
bastian kept  watch  with  Cooke,  the  loud  sounds 
that  arose  behind  them  in  the  distance,  denoted 
that  some  tumult  had  arisen;  and  in  making 
their  rounds,  they  found  knots  of  men  talking 
among  themselves.  But  though  rumors  had 
reached  even  to  that  distance  froin  the  camp, 
they  could  learn  nothing  distinct.  At  length,  so 
uneasy  did  Sebastian  become,  fearing  lest  the 
whole  fortune  of  the  city  should  be  destroyed  by 
the  want  of  strength  to  keep  in  order  its  own 
forces,  that,  leaving  his  post  to  the  charge  of 
Cooke  he  set  out  with  a  small  guard  for  the 
camp.  As  he  approached  it,  bodies  of  men, 
hurrying  hither  and  thither,  showed  that  his 
fears  were  not  altogether  unfounded,  and  that 
some  strange  disorder  had  broken  up  all  regu- 
larity. He  stopped  the  passengers  occasionally, 
but  could  gather  nothing  more  than  the  old 
coinplaint — the  soldiers  wanted  to  be  paid.  The 
camp  presented  an  appearance  of  one  rece'.tly 
seized  by  the  enemy;  for  large  bands  of  soldiers 
were  traversing  the  ground,  singing  and  brawl- 
ing. In  an  open  place  at  the  centre,  near  a  house 
occupied  by  the  Proveditore  Vendramini,  he 
found  a  knot  of  nobles,  who  v.ere  earnestly 
discoursing  with  the  men,  and  among  them. 
To  his  surprise,  he  saw  that  Roberto  da  Reca- 
nati had  come  before  him.  The  proveditori  was 
urging,  with  little  effect,  the  old  lesson  of 
patience,  while  Gianni  da  Pioveri,  one  of  the 
honestest  of  the  mercenary  leaders,  was  scorn- 
fully rejecting  that  scanty  comfort.  Vendramini 
himself  seemed  as  if  he  doubted  his  own  words  ; 
but  at  length  he  pointed  to  the  silence  of  Reca- 
nati, and  rebuked  the  other  captains  for  their 
lesser  patience. 

"  Aye,"  replied  Gianni,  "  Messer  Recanati  is 
a  wiser  man  than  we  are  ;  and  doubtless  he  has 
his  reasons.  Perhaps  it  may  be  that  he  is  wealth- 
ier, and  can  himself  pay  his  men  ;  or,  it  may 
be,  that  being  more  powerful,  the  senate  has 
given  to  him  the  treasure  which  we  poorer 
soldiers  cannot  have." 

At  this  Recanati  stepped  forward,  and  pressing 
his  hand  upon  his  breact,  assured  the  brawlers 
that  he  was  no  more  favored  than  tliemselves  ; 
and  he  appealed  to  Sebastian  to  say  whether 
even  he  had  not  difficnliy  in  silencing  his  men. 
"  I  do  believe,"  he  cried,  "  and  that  is  the  reason 
that  I  tell  my  men,  that  the  senate  will  pay  us 
our  due  ;  nay,  I  do  believe  that  long  ere  this  we 
should  have  had  all  that  we  have  earned  ;  and 
that  it  is  not  that  the  senate  look  coldly  on  us, 
but  that  they  are  poor — that  they  have  not  the 
money — that  Venice  is  quite  bare." 

"Why,  then,  ifso,"  cried  da  Piovere,  "  it  were 
better  to  eiiid  the  war  at  once.  We  a-e  not 
Venetians;  and  if  Venice  cannot  be  saved,  it 
were  better  to  hand  her  over  at  once,  than  to 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


81 


risk  our  lives  in  a  losing  war.  What  is  it  that 
wo  fight  fori  Does  Venice  so  freely  bestow  its 
honors  and  its  privileges  on  all  that  serve  it  1 
Will  it  count  us  her  citizens  1     Will  it—" 

"  I  do  beseech  you,"  said  da  Recanati,  "  to  be 
silent.  Messer  Vendramini  has  asked  us  to  de- 
lay eight  days  longer  ;  and  though  it  be  eight 
days,  or  twice  eight  days,  or  any  lime,  I  would 
be  content  to  wait.  Indeed,  I  believe  it  will  be 
longer.  I  know  not  where  Venice  is  to  seek  her 
wealth,  hemmed  in  within  these  lagooa— with- 
out merchandize,  almost  without  food  ;  for  even 
the  path  to  Treviso  cannot  long  remain  open. 
And  where  Venice  can  find  the  means  to  pay  us 
I  know  not.  Still  let  us  serve  for  our  good  fame ; 
and  if  Venice  be  destroyed,  let  us  fall  fighting 
in  her  defence,  that  our  name  may  live  in 
history." 

"  Why,  Messer  da  Recanati,"  said  Vendra- 
mini, "  you  encourage  the  men  in  such  fashion, 
that  they  are  like  to  die  of  fear  if  you  talk  much 
longer.  I  tell  you  that  the  senate  has  new  j)ro- 
jects  ;  that  it  is  taking  fresh  counsel ;  and  that 
before  many  days  have  passed,  we  shall  find 
some  plan  to  satisfy  you  ail.  We  will  sell  our 
houses  before  we  leave  our  friends  unre- 
quited." 

"  So,"  cried  da  Piovere,  "  you  have  told  us 
any  time  these  last  six  months ;  but  I  do  not 
hear  that  any  houses  have  been  sold  yet.  No, 
we  are  now  resolved  :  and  this  night,  as  many 
of  us  as  can  find  boast,  will  pass  straight  to 
Venice,  where  we  will  tell  the  doge,  that  if  we 
are  paid  we  stay,  and  that  if  we  are  not  paid,  we 
shall  hold  Pelestrina  for  the  Genoese.  There- 
lore,  Messer  Vendramini,  stay  me  no  longer; 
for  our  time  is  past  already." 

"  If  it  be  so,"  said  Vendramini,  looking  about 
him  as  if  in  doubt,  "  we  must  stop  this  traitor 
project ;  and  here,  Messer  Gianni  da  Piovere,  I 
seize  you  as  a  traitor  to  the  state." 

"Those  seize  who  have  the  power;  tho.se 
are  seized,  Messer  Vendramini,  who  are  weak. 
I  will  not  tell  my  men  to  seize  you,  because  I 
know  you  mean  no  harm.  But  if  I  do  not, 
count  it  rather  my  courtesy  than  any  need  I 
have." 

Vendramini's  face  flushed  ;  and  looking  to 
tiiose  behind  him,  he  cried  again,  "  Let  him  be 
seized  !" 

Sebastian  alone  advanced,  seeing  that  none 
dared  to  touch  the  audacious  condotliere.  But 
(la  Piovere,  taking  him  by  the  wrist,  said, 
"  Messer  Sebastiano  Morosini,  look  around  and 
see  which  of  us  is  like  to  seize  the  other."  Then 
raising  his  hand,  he  called  out,  "  Which  are  my 
men  1  who  are  with  meV-  And  at  the  instant 
a  loud  shout  arose  from  the  entire  crowd  that 
surrounded  the  small  knot  of  Venetian  nobles 
and  the  grumbling  leaders.  "  You,  most  noble 
-sirs,"  said  da  Piovere,  "are  our  prisoners;  as 
indeed,  you  have  been  the  whole  time  that  want 
of  pay  has  made  our  soldiers  your  enemies. 
Therefore  fear  not ;  for  your  danger  is  no 
greater  now  than  then." 

"  And  you,  Messer  da  Recanati,"  said  Sebas- 
tian, "do  you  take  part  with  these  !  Are  you 
one  of  the  enemies  of  Venice,  because  you  are 
not  paid  V 

"My  men  are  so,  if  you  will.  But  I,  like 
yourselves,  am  here  a  prisoner.  Think  you 
that  I  could  force  my  way,  or  bend  to  my  will 


this  turbulent  crowd  1  Is  it  so,  Messer  da  Pio- 
vere'!" 

"  No,  surely  not ;  we  have  but  two  parties 
here — those  who  join  us,  and  those  who  oppose 
us,  and  any  may  take  which  side  they  will. 
But  I  doubt  those  who  oppose  us,  have  small 
chance  of  victory.  And  if  you  will  not  be  con- 
vinced, Messer  Sebastiano,  we  will  try  it  again. 
Shout  once  more,  my  men  !  Who  are  for  tho 
new  bargain  with  Venice  1" 

Again  was  there  another  shout,  loud,  prompt, 
and  simultaneous  as  the  former.  As  it  died 
away,  there  was  a  faint  echo  in  the  distance. 

"Aye,  listen,"  cried  da  Piovere  ;  "they  an- 
swer us  afar.  It  is  the  same  all  over  the 
island." 

"  I  fear  me,"  cried  Vendramini,  "  that  there 
is  no  hope  for  us,  Messer  Sebastiano,  except 
in  letting  these  cavaliers  go  on  their  errand  to 
Venice  ;  and  perhaps  there  the  senate  may  teach 
them  a  higher  duty." 

"  Why  perhaps  it  may,  if  it  have  money 
enough,"  said  da  Piovere.  *'  Hark  again,  Mes- 
ser Sebastiano — they  are  answering  us  like  two 
cocks  at  a  distance.  Do  you  think  that  if  we 
were  not  of  one  mind,  we  could  shout  so  well 
together  1  Crow  again,  companions — let  them 
hear  us  once  more."  Those  around  him  obeyed, 
and  once  more  the  shout  rang  through  the  mar- 
ket place. 

Vendramini  drew  Sebastian  aside.  "This," 
he  said,  "  is  fearful.  I  know  not  what  to  do ; 
I  command  here  no  longer  ;  and  Messer  Pisani 
is  overtasked  in  defending  the  very  canals  ot 
Venice.  Messer  Barbarigo,  who  is  proved itore 
with  me,  says  nought,  and  I  do  suspect  that  he 
would  yield,  and  let  these  fellows  pass  to  Ven- 
ice. But  if  once  they  were  there,  we  must  sur- 
render the  city  to  them,  or  drive  them  out  as 
enemies ;  and  in  either  way  we  are  lost." 

"  Let  me,"  cried  Sebastian,  "  fetch  hither  our 
own  men,  and  Messer  Guglielmo  Cooke  ;  and 
we  will  finish  the  quarrel  here  in  Pelestrina." 

"Nay,  not  so;  I  have  thought  of  that.  But 
Messer  Barbarigo  knows  that  we  are  too  few 
for  the  traitors.  Alas  !  alas  !  that  men  should 
thus  break  their  faith.  I  can  devise  nothing 
better  than  to  send  to  the  doge  and  the  senate, 
to  tell  them  what  straits  we  are  in,  and  to  pre- 
pare them  to  receive  these  their  visiters  ;  and  I 
can  think  of  no  better  messenger  and  discreeter 
than  yourself  Haste,  then,  to  the  city  ;  and 
while  you  are  gone,  we  will  do  our  best  to  stay 
these  impatient  men." 

"  I  will  go  at  once,  so  that  none  see  me.  But 
I  would  rather  that  you  should  take  the  sword 
out  of  these  traitors'  hands,  and  scourge  them 
with  it." 

"  Why  so  T  would  ;  but  I  dare  not  make  the 
venture  alone  ;  and  Messer  Barbarigo " 

"  I  will  depart.  But  lead  them  into  your 
house — the  leaders,  I  mean — that  they  may  not 
see  me  go.  Farewell ;  I  will  hring,  cither  word 
to  deal  roughly  with  these  bargainers,  or  the 
doge  himself." 


oHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Vevdrami.m  so  far  obeyed  his  young  friend'* 
counsel,  that  he  prayet'  da  Piovere  to   confer 


83 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


with  him  in  his  own  lodging.  At  first  the  stur- 
dy condottiere  refused,  saying  tliat  they  could 
as  well  confer  in  the  open  place  ;  but  da  Reca- 
nati  assented  ;  and  in  brief  time  they  entered 
the  hall  of  the  house  that  served  the  provedi- 
tore  for  council  chamber ;  Ilecanati  took  care 
to  leave  some  i'ew  of  his  own  men  near  the  door. 
Exhausted  with  anxiety,  the  pioveditore  threw 
iiitnself  into  a  chair.  His  colleague  sat  close 
to  him  ;  and  others  entered,  taking  their  seats 
or  standing  as  they  listed.  But  the  heated 
Gianni  da  Piovere  would  not  sit. 

"  And  now  that  we  have  entered,"  he  cried, 
what  more  have  we  to  say  ?  Think  you  that  I 
can  linger  here,  while  those  shouts  keep  calling 
me  to  take  boat  for  Venice  1" 

"  I  would  convince  you,"  replied  Vcndramini, 
"that  the  senate  must  soon  have  wherewithal 
to  satisfy  you.  And  Mes.ser  Barbarigo  will  say 
as  much." 

Barbarigo  answered  not. 

"Messer  Barbarigo,"  cried  da  Piovere,  "is 
tired  of  promises — he  has  grown  bare  of  them, 
as  bare  as  Venice  of  treasure.  There  is 
nothing  left  for  us  but  Venice  itself;  and  that 
will  we  go  fetch,  with  your  leave,  and  that  of 
Messer  Sebastiano — why  he  is  here  no  more  ! 
Have  we  frightened  the  young  man,  that  he  has 
fledi" 

"Messer  Sei)asliano,"  said  da  Ilecanati,  "is 
not  one  to  be  frightened.  Perhaps  the  provedi- 
tore  can  tell  us  why  he  has  gonel" 

"  Nay,  I  know  nothing,"  answered  Barbarigo, 
breaking  silence  for  the  first  time. 

"  Then  shall  Messer  Vendramini  tell  us.  He 
says  nothing.  There  is  treachery  here,  sirs. 
I  have  not  liked  this  enterprise  of  Messer  da 
Piovere  ;  but  if  he  is  to  be  betrayed,  then  will 
my  honor  force  me  to  side  with  him  rather  than 
his  betrayers." 

"And  do  you  too  abandon  usl"  exclaimed 
Vendramini. 

"  I  abandon  none.  It  is  we  who  are  aban- 
doned. I  see  it  all — our  blood  has  been  spent 
in  vain — the  promised  treasure  comes  not,  and 
now  spies  are  sent  to  spread  rumors  against  us, 
and  to  betray  us.  Da  Piovere,  1  go  with  you 
to  Venice." 

"Be  welcome — of  all  men  in  the  army  most 
welcome,"  said  his  brother  condottiere.  "  Let 
us  then  dally  no  longer." 

Vendramini  looked  aghast.  He  turned  a  be- 
wildered despairing  look  to  the  other  nobles ; 
but  little  comfort  saw  he  in  their  faces.  Bar- 
barigo sat  still  and  expressionless  as  marble. 
Lionardo  Morosini  looked  undaunted ;  nay,  he 
almost  sneered  ;  but  he  spoke  no  word  of  coun- 
sel. The  rest  were  as  dismayed  and  bewildered 
as  Vendramini  himself. 

"  Stay,"  he  cried,  "  one  short  delay.  Messer 
da  Piovere,  never  yet  did  I  ask  boon  of  man  ; 
but  now  will  I  entreat  of  you  to  grant  me  this 
— one  other  day.  Bethink  you,  that  it  may  to 
yourself  be  the  saving  of  honor,  with  no  hiss  of 
profit.  I  beseech  you  grant  me  this.  Think 
how  great  a  city  totters  to  its  fall,  and  spare 
us." 

Da  Piovere  laughed.  "  Let  those  shouts  an- 
swer you,  Messer  Vendramini ;  for  I  am  loth  to 
speak  out  a  refusal  to  so  courteous  a  gentle- 
man."' 

The  shouting  truly  was   loud  and   long  ;  it 


sounded  like  a  body  of  men  approaching  to  the 
rt  St,  and  swelling  the  noise  with  fresh  voices. 
It  was  like  some  mad  feast,  so  shrill  and  lusty 
was  the  cry. 

"This,"  cried  Vendramini,  "is  no  echo  ot 
yours.     There  is  sometliing  new  astir." 

"Aye,  aye,  more  of  them." 

"  Hark,  again  !" 

All  listened.  Vendramini  started,  and  flung 
his  arms  aloft,  wild  with  joy. 

"  They  shout  '  Carlo  Zeno .''     He  is  come  !•" 

Barbarigo,  too,  started  and  turned  pale,  like 
da  Recanati,  who  bent  a  fierce  look  on  Vendra- 
mini, as  though  he  would  have  smote  him.  Da 
Piovere  laughed  again,  crying,  "  Farewell,  Mes- 
ser Provediiore  ;  more  such  pleasant  dreams  to 
you."  And  he  moved  towards  the  door  of  the 
hall. 

It  was  opened  by  Edward,  who,  entering  the 
hall,  made  room  for  Carlo  Zeno,  and  his  com- 
panion Luigi  Morosini.  Looking  around  him 
with  a  pleasant  smile,  Zeno  said,  "  I  have  come 
in  happy  time,  for  my  path  I  found  full  of  lusty 
soldiers,  and  their  leaders  I  find  in  council." 

"  Alas  !  Messer  Zeno,"  answered  Vendrami- 
ni, approaching  to  take  his  hand,  "  you  find  us 
in  most  unhappy  time  ;  for  the  soldiers  that 
seemed  to  you  so  ready,  are  ready  to  attack, 
not  to  defend  Venice ;  and  we  in  council 
here  are  defeated  by  the  traitors  that  would  lead 
them." 

Zeno  halted  in  his  advance.  "  You  speak 
riddles,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  have  heard,  indeed, 
through  these  my  friends  that  came  to  fetch  me, 
how  Venice  had  been  beleagured  by  the  Geno- 
ese;  and  I  have  heard  too  of  treasons  in  the 
city ;  but  surely  I  see  around  me  none  that  I 
know  for  other  than  honest  men  V  As  his  eye 
passed  from  one  to  another,  it  rested  on  Reca- 
nati, and  he  started,  adding,  "At  least  none  that 
I  know  to  be  other  than  honest.  Which  is  the 
traitor  V 

"  Say  traitors,"  replied  Vendramini,  "for  there 
are  more  than  one.  And  ask  da  Piovere;  let 
him  tell  the  tale." 

'•  How  is  this,  my  friend  da  Piovere  1"  asked 
Zeno,  "surely  you  have  not  turned  traitor! 
You  were  wont  to  have  more  skill  in  the  field 
than  in  council ;  and  I  fear  if  you  have  turned 
senator,  you  may  have  made  mistakes.  What 
is  it  that  you  want  1" 

"  Nay  ;"  answered  the  condottiere,  laughing, 
as  if  for  shame,  "  let  us  talk  no  more  of  that :  we 
have  wanted,  as  soldiers  do  want,  either  victory 
or  pay  ;  and  now  that  you  are  come,  we  are 
secure  of  both.  But,  in  sooth,  for  a  long  time 
past  neither  have  we  had  to  cheer  us." 

"  You  shall  have  both  if  I  can  bring  them  to 
you  ;  and  pay  at  least  you  shall  have,  for  my 
own  means  are  not  exhausted,  as  they  shall  be 
presently  if  Venice  need  them  all.  But  you 
spoke,  Messer  Vendramini,  of  more  than  one 
traitor.  Messer  da  Piovere  is  none — where  arc 
they  then  V 

Vendramini  pointed  to  Recanati. 

To  Zeno's  inquiring  glance,  the  condottiere 
returned  a  steady  regard.  Drawing  himself  up 
to  his  full  height,  he  stood  for  a  moment  as  if 
uncertain  how  to  act.  His  eye  turned  hastily 
to  the  table  where  sat  Barbarigo,  and  then  to 
Lionardo  Morosini  and  then  again  he  looked  a* 
Zeno. 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


83 


"You  are  silenf,  Recanati,"  said  Carlo. 
"  I  was  silent,  Messer  Zeno,  because  the  pro- 
veditore  spoke  of  traitors,  not  of  me  ;  but  I  see 
that  an  enemy  has  come  among  us,  and  I  am 
not  so  easy  as  da  Piovere  to  think  that  one  man 
can  bring  back  the  fortune  and  the  treasure 
which  the  whole  senate  and  people  of  Venice 
have  lost ;  we  have  fought  for  Venice  for  many 
a  weary  month,  and  when  we  ask  our  guerdon 
we  are  paid  by  being  called  traitors,  and  then 
by  some  fancy  of  what  one  great  general  is  to 
do  for  us — I  am  not  safe  here,  let  me  pass  to 
my  men,"  and  he  moved  towards  tlie  door. 

"Not  so,  Messer  Recanati,"  answered  Zeno, 
slopping  his  passage  ;  "  you  shall  not  leave  us 
in  this  mood.  I  would  satisfy  you  as  I  have 
satisfied  da  Piovere  before  you  depart. 

"Why  then,  Messer  Zeno,"  answered  Re- 
canati, "count  me  not  one  to  be  satisfied  like 
da  Piovere.  If  my  suspicions  were  slower  than 
his,  as  Messer  Vendramini  will  tell  you  they 
were,  once  aroused  they  are  more  fixed  ;  and  I 
say  to  you,  that  a  few  fair  words  or  a  few 
frowns  shall  not  bow  me  down  ;  let  me  pass, 
Messer  Zeno."  His  eyes  grew  darker,  and 
again  he  moved  forward  ;  Zeno  laid  his  hand 
upon  him  to  stay  nim,  hut  Recanati  rudely 
pushing  him  back  cried,  "  Violence  is  then  to 
be  used  ;"  and  rushing  hastily  to  the  door  he 
threw  it  open,  calling  out  as  loudly  as  he  could, 
"  Where  are  the  friends  of  Recanati?  save  me, 
save  me  !" 

"  What  fully  is  this  V  cried  Zeno,  "  there  is 
none  threatens  you  here,  Messer  Recanati. 
Bring  back  the  brawling  fellow,  Edward,  and 
close  the  door." 

The  Englishman  essayed  to  obey,  and  while 
he  and  Luigi  seized  Recanati  by  the  arm  to 
draw  him  back,  he  tried  to  push  the  doors  close 
with  his  foot,  but  Recanati's  men,  now  pressed 
into  the  hall,  and  the  door  could  not  be  closed. 
Barbarigo  had  risen  from  his  seat,  and  with 
Lionardo  and  the  other  nobles  had  approached 
the  entrance  of  the  hall,  but  all  stood  as  if  be- 
wildered. 

"Sec  you  not,"  cried  Recanati  to  his  men, 
"that  I  am  a  prisoner — they  have  called  me 
traitor,  and  when  I  would  have  fled  to  my  peo- 
ple, they  have  held  me  fast,  I  know  not  for 
what  violence." 

Vendramini  endeavored  to  make  him  listen 
to  the  assurances  that  no  harm  was  intended  to 
him,  but  he  would  not  be  pacified  :  and  while 
he  continued  to  call  out  like  a  man  in  fear,  his 
people  pressed  into  the  doorway  and  kept  others 
back. 

"  What  folly  is  this,"  again  said  Zeno,  "  be 
still,  Messer  Recanati ;  listen,  sir,  to  me."  As 
he  spake,  he  again  seized  Recanati  by  the  arm 
to  force  his  attention  ;  but  breaking  from  those 
that  held  him,  the  condottiere  cried  with  in- 
creasing rage — 

"I  see,  I  see,  Messer  Vendramini,  it  is  my 
liJe  you  seek,  but  think  not  you  shall  buy  it  so 
cheap." 

And  before  any  one  was  aware,  he  drew  from 
his  belt  a  short  dagger,  with  whicii  he  suddenly 
and  fiercely  struck  Carlo  Zeno  full  in  the  middle 
of  his  chest :  llie  blade  broke  short  ofl',  so  that 
the  hilt  remained  in  his  hand.  Like  lightning 
the  swords  of  Edward  and  Lulgi  were  out  of 
their  scabbards,  but  as  he  struck  the  blow,  Re- 


canati had  hastily  drawn  back  among  his  men, 
and  the  blood  which  followed  the  stroke  of  Ed- 
ward's sword  was  not  that  of  their  leader.  Ut- 
tering a  loud  cry,  Vendramini  threw  himself 
unarmed  between  the  combatants,  exclaiming, 
"  Back  sjrs,  back  ;  let  us  not  set  the  whole 
town  in  arms  !" 

Others  of  the  nobles  pressed  around  Carlo 
Zeno,  and  seized  him  to  prevent  his  falling; 
but  still  upright  as  ever,  he  gently  put  them 
aside,  and  plucking  forth  from  his  clothes  the 
blade  of  Recanati's  dagger,  beheld  it  up  crying, 
"The  traitor's  weapon  was  traitor  to  him- 
self, it  is  hut  a  scratch,  signori  miei ;  for  Zeno 
is  too  old  a  soldier  to  travel  in  war  time  unarm- 
ed ;"  and  he  knocked  his  hand  against  his  breast, 
showing  them  by  the  jangle  which  they  heard 
that  he  had  a  stout  shirt  of  mail  under  his 
vest,  in  which  the  violence  of  Recanati's  blow 
had  bedded  the  point  of  his  weapon,  though 
it  scarcely  touched  the  flesh  beneath.  "But. 
sirs,"  he  continued,  "are  we  to  be  beard  id 
thus  by  a  traitor  and  his  band]  are  wo  so 
few  or  so  scantily  armed,  that  this  dozen  of 
men  can  scare  us  1  once  more  then,  seize  the 
traitor." 

Himself  setting  the  example  he  rushed  among 
the  condottiere's  men  ;  surprised  by  the  sud- 
denness of  the  attack,  and  hesitating  perhaps  to 
wage  open  war  with  so  many  of  the  nobles  of 
Venice,  the  traitorous  crew  feebly  resisted,  and 
in  a  few  seconds  Recanati  was  held  firmly  by 
four  or  five  of  the  nobles,  who  had  now  gained 
courage  and  energy  from  the  example  of  their 
trusted  leader.  In  the  mean  time,  too,  others 
of  the  soldiery  had  entered  the  hall,  and  when 
Recanati  surveyed  their  numbers,  he  resigned 
himself  in  sullen  daring  to  the  fate  that  might 
await  him. 

"We  must,"  said  Zeno,  "crush  this  con- 
spiracy at  its  root.  Let  him  he  guarded  ;  and 
to-morrow  he  shall  be  sent  to  Venice  for  the 
judgment  of  the  Ten." 

But  Vendramini  seized  the  arm  of  Zeno,  and 
speaking  low  and  earnestly,  pleaded  for  the  baf- 
fled traitor. 

"  Bethink  you,  Messer  Zeno,"  he  said,  "  that 
this  conspiracy  began  not  with  Recanati.  As  he 
was  the  boldest  to  carry  it  out,  so  he  was  the 
very  last  to  join  it.  Bethink  you  that  your 
coming  should  be  graced  rather  by  fresh  har- 
mony, than  by  Wood  and  death :  and  much  I 
fear  me,  that  if  this  captain  were  slain,  so  en- 
raged would  the  others  be,  that  our  whole  army 
would  be  turned  to  foes.  His  mistake  is  not 
greater  than  da  Piovere's  whom  you  so  easily 
forgave  ;  but  that  he  has  been  more  audacious, 
which  also  you  should  forgive,  for  it  is  a  sol- 
dier's vice." 

"  It  is  not  for  me,"  answered  Zeno,  "  to 
judge,  but  for  the  Ten." 

"  Nay,  it  is  for  us  here  to  judge  in  times 
like  these.  If  we  send  this  man  to  Venice,  he 
must  perforce  be  adjudged  to  death,  but  here 
in  this  chamber  we  can  forget  what  has  hap- 
pened." 

Calling  to  him  Barbarigo,  Vendramini  made 
him  join  in  his  entreaties,  and  seeing  that  his 
prayers  were  of  no  avail,  he  would  have  knelt, 
but  Zeno  prevented  him. 

"  Well,  noble  sirs,"  cried  he,  "  I  have  ever 
found  it  best  to  meet  and  crush  danger  when 


84 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHEK. 


first  it  shows  its  head,  but  truly  the  senate  has 
yet  given  me  no  oSice  :  it  is  mine  to  obey,  not 
to  command,  and  you  shall  do  with  Messer  Re- 
canati  as  you  will,  I  have  no  farther  will  in  this 
business." 

"  Then,"  said  Vendramini  aloud,  "  all  shall 
be  forgotten.  You  have  found  us,  MflsserZeno, 
in  most  miserable  estate,  with  doubts  and  trea- 
sons amongst  us,  and  discord  among  ourselves; 
your  arrival  shall  begin  a  new  history ;  from 
this  moment  we  shall  have  hopes  in  place  of 
fears ;  trust  and  good  faith  instead  of  suspicion 
and  treachery.  Messer  da  Recanati,  you  are  re- 
leased. Let  your  men  withdraw  ;  let  all  with- 
draw. And  while  we  retire,  Messer  Zeno,  to 
give  you  that  rest  and  ease  which  your  voyage 
must  need,  one  of  your  friends  shall  hasten 
to  bear  to  Venice  the  glad  tidings  of  your  arri- 
val." 

"Be  it  so,"  answered  Zeno;  "and  let  the 
messenger  be  Messer  Odoardo,  who  has  so 
w  °.\\  performed  the  service  for  which  he  was 
cho.en." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Sebastian  returned  to  Pelestrina  before  it 
was  light,  and  learning  the  joyful  tidings  that 
the  long-wished  man  had  arrived,  he  went  at 
once  to  the  lodging  which  Zeno  had  chosen  in 
Vendramini's  house.  Zeno  slept.  He  had 
sought  repose,  he  said,  that  he  might  work  the 
earlier  ;  and  Sebastian  sat  by  his  bedside. 

Not  long  after,  Zeno  awoke,  sat  up  in  his 
bed,  and  knowing  his  friend,  he  said  without 
greeting — 

"  Sebastian,  find  me  some  trustworthy  man 
with  whom  Recanati  has  been  talking." 

"  Myself." 

"  Does  he  disclose  his  secrets  to  you  1" 

"  No  ;  perhaps  he  would  think  it  danger- 
ous." 

"  Some  other  then." 

"  My  father  is  another,  and  Guglielmo 
Cooke." 

"  Neither  ;  they  would  not  see,  the  one  for 
his  simple  mind,  .the  other — know  you  of  none 
besides  r' 

"  Of  none  except  a  boy,  Ranieri  Arduino." 

"Arduino!  the  son  of  Jacopo  1" 

"  The  same." 

"  And  what  then  is  this  boy  1" 

Sebastian  hastily  told  Ranieri's  history,  not 
concealing  from  his  friend  even  the  part  that 
Teresa  had  in  it,  and  then  telling  how  Recana- 
ti had  of  late  seemed  to  court  the  friendship  of 
the  youth. 

"  And  when  was  that  V  asked  Zeno,  who 
had  listened  in  silence. 

"  But  two  days  since." 

"  Bring  the  boy  to  me." 

Sebastian  took  his  leave  and  hastened  to  his 
tent  to  fetch  Ranieri :  with  whom,  not  long 
after,  he  returned  to  Zeno's  presence. 

"  Hero,"  he  said,  "  is  the  young  friend  of 
whom  I  spake,  Ranieri  Arduino." 

"  Why,"  said  Zeno,  "you  told  me  of  a  boy, 
but  here  I  see  a  mac   ' 

"  Truly,"  answered  Sebastian,  "  Ranieri 
grows  fast,  and  if  his  friends  are  absent  for  a 


sl.ort  space,  they  may  well  mistake  how  to  caH 
him  ;  and  you  see  his  beard  now  begins  to  bud, 
so  that  he  will  not  much  longer  be  ofTended 
with  the  name  of  boy. 

"  In  sooth,"  said  Zeno,  "  he  is  a  tall  fellow 
— you  have  a  sister,  Messer  Ranieri ;  is  she 
tall  tool" 

"  I  think,"  replied  the  youth,  "  that  she  is 
nearly  of  my  own  height." 

"Aye,  and  but  a  little  while  ago  you  would 
have  been  proud  to  say  that  you  were  nearly  of 
her  height.  Now  tell  us — Roberto  da  Recanati 
has  been  speaking  with  you  ;  what  has  passed 
between  you  1" 

Without  pausing  for  excuses,  or  lack  of 
thought,  the  youth  told  the  two  nobles,  how, 
early  one  morning,  while  he  had  been  loitering 
about  Sebastian's  tent,  he  had  been  accosted 
in  a  soft  and  courteous  manner  by  Roberto  da 
Recanati.  "  He  spoke  to  me  for  some  time," 
said  Ranieri,  "  as  if  he  knew  not  who  I  was, 
and  only  discovered  it  from  something  that  I 
had  said  ;  and  then  suddenly  he  cried,  '  What, 
then,  are  you  the  youth  that  gave  up  his  father 
to  the  Ten  r" 

"And  what  answered  you  to  thatl"  said 
Zeno. 

"  I  answered  nothing,  for  I  felt  angry;  and 
yet  was  he  so  courteous  in  hts  manner,  that  I 
scarcely  knew  why  I  should  be  so.  I  suppose 
he  saw  my  anger,  for  he  said,  '  Nay,  be  not 
offended,  for  I  asked  only  to  be  sure  to  whom 
I  spoke  to.'  And  then  he  said,  '  Messer  Rani- 
eri, you  are  discreet  beyond  your  years,  and,  if 
I  mistake  not,  you  have  the  full  trust  of  your 
friend,  Messer  Sebastiano  Morosini.'  I  told 
him  that  I  believed  so;  and  he  said,  'Does 
Messer  Sebastiano  know  the  tale  that  is  told 
of  you  in  Venice  V  Then  I  felt  angry  again,  and 
I  said.  Why  do  you  ask  ^  on  which  he  smiled, 
and  said  that  he  would  not  ask  farther  if  it  dis- 
pleased me.  But  so  he  went  on,  sometimes 
asking  questions,  and  sometimes  telling  me,  in 
dark  and  doubtful  words,  that  if  I  chose,  I 
might  reach  to  great  distinction  ;  that  I  could 
have  high  rewards  ;  and  that  Messer  Sebas- 
tiano might  grow  powerful ;  and  he  thought, 
from  what  he  knew  of  me,  that  I  could  con- 
trive those  things  ;  and  also,  as  Messer  Sebas- 
tiano had  so  far  trusted  me,  that  he  would  not 
be  displeased." 

"  And  what  answered  youl"  said  Zeno. 

"  Indeed  I  answered  very  little.  At  first  I 
felt  disposed  to  tell  him  roughly,  that  I  would 
listen  to  no  traitor.  But  I  bethought  me  that 
I  had  better  take  sager  council  than  my  own  ; 
so  that  I  told  him  I  could  say  nothing,  but  that 
I  would  speak  to  him  again.  And  thus  he  left 
me." 

"  You  should  have  spoken  out,"  said  Sebas- 
tian ;  "  it  is  not  safe  to  speak  with  traitors  in 
secret,  for  always  the  man  that  is  seen  hsten- 
ing  to  a  traitor  is  thought  to  be  so  himself." 

"  You  have  told  me,  Sebastian,"  interrupted 
Zeno,  "that  Ranieri  was  discreet,  and  truly  I 
find  him  more  so  than  you  ;  for  he  has  found 
just  what  I  needed.  Think  you,  Ranieri,  that 
this  Recanati  believes  Sebastian  to  be  leagued 
with  you  in  some  bad  Jevice,  tliat  he  spoke  of 
your  yielding  your  father  as  if  it  were  a  crime 
which  you  concealed,  and  Sebastian  allowed  V 

"  So  it  seemed." 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


85 


•'  Boy,    have    you    courage     and    firmness  I  amocco  shall   be   regained,   and   Pisani  shah 


enough  to  play  with  this  traitor  at  his  own 
weapons'!  Will  you,  for  all  the  rewards  which 
he  would  give  you,  but  obtained  honestly,  help 
me  to  circumvent  him  1  For,"  continued  Zeno, 
turning  to  Sebastian,  "none  that  has  led, 
either  in  council  or  in  camp,  can  push  to  his 
end  without  deceit.  It  is  one  of  the  things 
that  we  have  to  fight,  and  therefore  must  we 
learn  how  to  fight  with  it,  since  you  never  can 
conquer  any  combatant  if  you  do  not  under- 
stand his  art.  The  difference  between  an 
honest  man  and  a  traitor,  both  using  stratagem, 
is  this — that  the  traitor  uses  it  against  all,  and 
for  his  own  bad  ends  ;  but  the  honest  man  uses 
it  only  against  traitors,  and  never  for  his  own 
ends.  You  will  make  a  bad  general,  Sebas- 
tian, if  you  are  to  proud  to  use  a  little  of  this 
vile  art.  That  man's  honesty  is  but  weak  who 
cannot  a  little  dally  and  play  with  it,  fearing 
that  it  should  break  down  if  once  he  trust  it 
out  of  rigid  keeping.  I  can  see  by  your  friend 
Ranieri's  honest  face  that  he  can  use  some  of 
this  cunning,  and  yet  not  be  the  worse  ;  is  it 
not  so,  Ranieri  V 

"  I  think,  Messer  Zeno,"  answered  the  youth, 
"  that  I  may  well  shape  myself  by  your  wisdom 
and  conscience,  without  fearing  either  disgrace 
or  ill." 

"  Then,"  answered  Zeno,  "  we  must  play  a 
little  with  our  friend's  character.  You  shall 
make  this  Recanati  think  that  the  most  proud 
and  pure  Sebastian  doth  a  little  relent  to  his 
treachery,  and  that  he  is  willing  to  join  him  in 
the  conspiracy,  so  that  it  be  safe,  and,  there- 
fore, that  he  acts  rather  through  you  than  of 
himself     Shall  it  be  so,  Sebastian." 

"  I  have  learnt  of  Ranieri  how  to  answer, 
and  I  will  say  that  I  am  yours  to  use  as  you 
will." 

"  Know  then,  Ranieri,  that  I  suspect  this 
Recanati  to  hold  some  secret  converse  with 
the  traitors  here,  or  in  Venice,  if  not  with  Car- 
rara. Refuse  him  then  nothing ;  do  all  that 
he  wishes  ;  plot,  contrive,  and  compass  the  de- 
struction of  us  all ;  but  do  it  on  this  sole  con- 
dition— that  you,  on  behalf  of  Sebastian,  take 
part  in  all  his  councils,  and  hear  all  that  is 
done.  There  may  be  danger  in  this,  my  young 
friend  ;  but  never  can  man  reach  greatness 
except  by  passing  through  danger  at  every 
step.  And  as  for  your  good  fame,  fear  it  not  ; 
for  in  whatever  part  you  may  fall,  I  will  be 
sponsor  for  you  to  the  world.  Do  this,  and 
you  will  have  done  me  such  service,  that  when 
I  hold  victory  in  my  hand,  I  shall  account  you 
to  have  given  it  to  me." 

Flushing  full  up  to  the  eyes,  which  sparkled 
with  animation  and  hope,  Ranieri  promised 
that  ho  would  do  what  was  needed  of  him. 
And  taking  his  leave,  he  hastened  away  to 
regain  Sebastian's  tent  ere  his  absence  could 
be  noted. 

"And  now,"  said  Zeno,  "tell  me — the  Gen- 
oese have  gained  a  footing  in  Peleslrina  hero 
behind  us,  to  the  north,  and  on  Malamocco." 

"Also  to  the  north  of  Malamocco,"  said 
Sebastian  ;  "  for  they  hold  the  port  of  Lido,  and 
the  canal  within." 

'  Holy  Mary  preserve  the  city  !  We  must 
drive  theixr  from  it — at  once.  To-morrow  I 
will  look  to  our  means — to-morrow  night  Mal- 


sweep  clean  the  canal  of  the  blessed  saint  of 
Venice.  Set  him  his  task,  and  none  can  per- 
form it  so  well  as  Pisani.  After  that — but  let 
us  think  now  of  the  beginning — by  the  blessing 
of  Heaven,  I  will  drive  before  me  both  traitors 
and  Genoese." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

CoNTARiNi  nad  arrived  at  Malamocco.    The 
whole  place  to  the  south-west  of  where  the 
Genoese  had  entrenched  themselves  was  in  a 
stir.     Recanati's  men  had  been  drawn  off  from 
the  face  of  the  enemy  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
island,  nearer  to  Pelestrina,  and  a* new  lorce 
took  up  the  position  in  front  of  the  Genoese. 
Among  them  might  be  seen  a  strong  body  of 
Uscocchi,  and  many  of  Cooke's  men.     More 
towards  the  centre  of  the  island,  the  soldiers 
were  engaged  in  striking  and  pitching  tents; 
those  who  had  already  been  there  moving  off 
towards  remoter  posts,  and  drawing  their  tents 
closer  together,  to  make  room  for  the  rein- 
forcements which  Contarini  had  brought.  Every 
face  was  changed :   doubt  and  treason  were 
forgotten.     More  men  had  come — the  prince 
himself  was  theie,  he  had  brought  gold — and 
Zeno  had  arrived.     While  the  men  were  thus 
working  like  ants,  they  were  stopped  in  their 
labors  by  the  shrill  clangor  of  a  trumpet ;   and 
those  who  could  be  spared  were  led  to  the  front 
of  the  large  tent  in  which  the  doge  had  taken 
up  his  lodging  for  the  nonce.     The  day  was 
fair,  and  the  sun  shone  brightly  on  the  white 
tents ;  some  of  the  canvass,  indeed,  had  for- 
gotten its  first  color,  and  had  assumed  many 
fantastic  hues — the  sun,  too,  gleamed  brightly 
on  the  waters  of  the  lagoon,  which  was  cov- 
ered with  galleys,  and  burchi,  and  other  large 
boats  which   had  gathered  to  the  spot.     The 
soldiers  stood  for  a  short  time  in  order,  await- 
ing what  should  happen,  when  another  trumpet 
called   their  attention,  and   a  large   party  of 
nobles,  mostly  in  arms,  but  some  few  in  robes, 
issued  from  the  doge's  tent.     After  them  came 
the  prince,  and  on  either  side  of  him  were  two 
forms  well  known  to  the  armies  of  Venice.    On 
his  left,  and  walking  a  little  behind  him,  was 
the  square  and  athletic  Vittor  Pisani,  in  arms  ; 
but  he  had  hastily  donned  for  the  occasion  his 
robe  of  office — the  long  red  sleeveless   robe, 
buttoned  over  either  shoulder,  and  the  round 
red  cap  in  which  Venice  clothed  her  generals. 
In  his  right  hand  the  prince  led  Carlo  Zeno, 
and  at  the  sight  of  him  and  of  the  robe  he 
wore,  the  men  set  up  a  loud  shout ;  so  loud 
and  long,  that  Contarini  did  not  even  essay  to 
make  his  voice  heard,  but  advancing  to  the 
square  space  between  the  men,  he  waved  his 
hand  in  token  that  he  gave  a  new  general  to 
the  army.     All  the  while  that  the  chief  stood 
there,  the  men  continued  shouting;    so  that 
after  saying  a  few  words,  that  none  could  hear, 
the  doge  retired  again  with  the  generals. 

The  men  did  not  relinquish  their  busy  labors. 
The  day  was  well  nigh  spent  when  the  whole 
of  the  tents  were  removed  and  repitched  ;  and 
then  were  arms  taken  out  and  scanned  to  see 
that  they  were  fit  for  service.  That  done,  the 
men  gathered  into  knots  and  rested  in  pleasant 


86 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


talk ;  questioning  what  might  next  be  done, 
and  disputing  whether  Zeno  meant  to  strike 
at  once,  or  to  gather  new  strength  before  his 
first  blow.  Night  arrived,  and  all  went  to 
repose. 

But  the  night  had  not  passed,  ere  the  whole 
were  in  movement  again.  With  as  much  si- 
lence as  they  might,  great  part  of  the  soldiers 
put  on  their  arms  and  took  their  posts,  each 
under  his  own  leader ;  each  uncertain  how 
many  like  himself  might  be  stirring  in  the  dark, 
but  gathering,  occasionally,  from  the  distant 
tread  of  men  or  the  clank  of  arms,  that  others 
also  were  abroad.  It  was  bruited  among  them 
that  Pisani  had  left  Malamocco  before  even 
they  had  roused  them;  but  each  leader,  as  he 
passed  awjfy  from  the  camp  with  his  men,  was 
silent,  and  gave  no  hint  of  the  work  before 
them.  Many  moved  up  towards  Lido,  slowly 
and  cautiously,  and  often  as  they  went,  came 
messengers,  who,  speaking  to  the  leaders, 
passed  on  and  were  lost  in  the  darkness. 

Within  a  tent  at  the  edge  of  the  ground  still 
Venetian,  were  assembled  a  party  of  cavaliers, 
ad  armed.  The  troops  there  stationed,  were 
silent  as  death :  they  had  been  roused  from 
slumber,  but  they  stirred  not ;  and  those  who 
watched  upon  the  low  wall  which  the  Genoese 
had  built  around  their  camp,  or  looked  out  from 
two  taller  towers  that  stood  near,  could  not 
have  guessed  that  a  large  force  was  there  lying 
m  readiness  for  action.  Even  the  Venetians 
themselves  were  unaware  of  the  numbers 
gathering  in  their  rear  ;  and  the  cavaliers  who 
looked  out  from  their  tent,  which  was  open  so 
that  they  could  see  at  once  the  line  of  the 
Genoese  wall,  and  the  tents  of  their  own  men, 
watched  also  in  stillness,  talking  among  them- 
selves almost  in  whispers.  Galluzzi  was  there, 
Boemondo  Tiepolo,  Orso  Mocenigo,  Alberto 
Alberli,  the  senator's  son,  and  Rinaldo  Caresini. 
As  they  watched,  a  tall  form  appeared  in  the 
dim  light  at  the  opening  of  the  tent,  and  Se- 
bastian entered.  Knowing  his  errand,  all 
started  to  their  feet,  and  before  he  had  said  the 
word  that  all  was  ready,  they  had  moved  to 
follow  him.  As  they  issued  forth,  they  found 
ranged  among  the  tents  their  own  men  ;  who 
had  taken  their  posts  with  such  silence  that 
they  could  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  the 
moveless  ground.  Zeno's  orders  had  pervaded 
every  part,  and  had  been  carried  on  without 
haste,  but  with  eager  zeal.  Sebastian  pointed 
to  the  wall,  above  which,  against  that  pale 
light  that  showed  where  the  dawn  would  rise, 
was  moving  a  solitary  watcher.  His  slow  and 
easy  pace  showed  that  he  knew  not  of  the 
movement  so  near  him.  "  Let  us  be  unseen 
as  long  as  we  may,"  said  Sebastian  ;  "  till 
then,  silence  is  our  first  duty.  But  when  we 
once  are  seen,  speed  will  be  our  safety.  We 
are  to  wait  here  until  we  know  that  Messer 
Navagero  has  made  his  attack.  He  lies  in  the 
centre,  nearer  to  the  lagoon  ;  and  beyond  is 
Malipiero,  who  also  waits  for  the  same  sig- 
nal." 

"  I  doubt,"  said  Galluzzi,  "  if  Malipiero  will 
wait  for  the  graver  Navagero." 

"  He  has  Soranzo  with  him,  who  will  keep 
him  in  until  it  is  time.  Besides,  for  all  he  has 
fought  in  this  war  more  fiercely  than  ever  he 
did  wl:en  his  blood  was  young,  he  has  grown 


more  silent  and  disci  eet ;  and  ,hey  say  that  he 
has  waxed  marvellously  pious,  having  sworn 
an  oath  that  he  will  faithfully  serve  St.  Mark." 

"  Why  then  he  will  keep  it,"  said  young 
Alberti  ;  "  for  Malipieiro  has  so  much  of  the 
priest  in  him,  that  he  would  have  been  in  the 
church,  but  for  his  fiery  passions." 

"Are  we  not  late?"  asked  Tiepolo;  "for  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  dawn  will  overtake  us 
before  we  have  crossed  the  wall." 

"  It  is  scarcely  the  hour  named,"  answered 
Sebastian  ;  "  and  it  was  Zeno's  thought,  that  if 
the  darkness  would  be  the  best  for  the  attack, 
some  little  light  would  serve  us  after  we  have 
entered  ;  therefore  is  it  that  we  await  till  now. 
But  Navagero  must  be  ready,  and  we  shall 
soon  know  when  he  moves  forward.  Let  us 
be  silent  that  we  may  hear  and  watch  the  bet- 
ter." So  saying  he  held  his  peace;  as  did  his 
companions. 

They  did  not  wait  long,  before  the  man  on 
the  wall,  whose  motions  were  a  sign  to  them 
of  the  peace  still  reigning  on  the  other  side, 
stood  still.  Presently  another  form  appeared 
near  him,  and  then  more ;  and  they  moved 
away  towards  the  left. 

"Methinks  they  have  seen  something,"  said 
Sebastian.  "  Let  our  men  stand  ready  to  move 
forward  the  stage." 

"  They  are  at  their  posts,"  said  the  voice  ot 
Boemondo  ;    "  I  have  just  been  with  theni." 

The  forms  of  the  men  upon  the  wall  now 
moved  more  quickly,  and  while  some  again 
had  jumped  down,  the  others  might  be  seen 
running  hastily.  A  moment's  silence,  and  then 
the  shrill  blast  of  a  trumpet  startled  the  night : 
there  was  a  confused  hubbub,  and  then  a  crash, 
and  then  arose  up  the  sound  of  voices — a 
tramping, — and  the  clash  of  arms. — 

"  They  are  at  it,"  cried  Sebastian.  "  For- 
ward !  we  will  give  thern  work  here  too." 

He  had  no  sooner  spoken,  than  a  large  wood- 
en machine  on  wheels — a  heavy  frame  support- 
ing a  platform  at  the  top,  with  a  drawbridge  td 
let  fall  upon  the  walls,  and  steps  behind  by 
which  the  besiegers  might  climb  it — was  drag- 
ged hastily  forward  by  a  hundred  hands.  The 
trench  which  the  Genoese  had  begun,  had  made 
little  way  in  the  hard  ground,  and  was  easily 
filled  with  wood  that  the  Venetians  had  brought 
for  the  purpose.  But  their  noise  had  drawn 
others  to  the  wall,  and  presently  showers  of 
arrows  began  to  fall  among  them.  Little  heed- 
ing that  hard  rain,  they  pressed  forward  to  their 
task.  Planks  were  laid — the  stage  was  driven 
to  the  wall — the  bridge  was  lowered,  crushing 
the  hand  of  one  man  that  would  have  forced  it 
back  before  it  was  fixed — many  feet  trampled 
upon  it — there  was  a  sudden  sound  of  thunder, 
a  glare  of  light,  and  the  heavy  discharge  of  a 
manganel  swept  the  floor  of  the  stage.  It  cast 
a  blasting  light  full  in  the  faces  of  the  Vene- 
tians ;  and  struck  by  that  terrible  force,  more 
than  one  was  hurled  down  to  the  ground.  But 
Sebastian  had  pressed  on  so  swiftly,  that  he  had 
already  passed  beyond  it.  He  jumped  down, 
and  threw  himself  among  the  Genoese  ;  and 
alighting  he  knew  not  how  upon  his  feet,  dash- 
ed his  sword  into  the  living  mass  of  men  before 
him.  Striking  with  might  and  main  he  pressed 
forward  so  lustily  that  none  could  withstand  hia 
blows  ;  and  as  he  pushed  tn  he  heard  the  con- 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


67 


etant  sound  of  others  jumping  from  the  wall 
behind  him,  so  that  the  mere  press  of  numbers 
began  to  drive  bacli  the  Genoese.  The  tumult 
had  now  swelled  to  an  uproar ;  the  sound  of 
arms  and  of  voices  might  be  heard  along  the 
whole  line  of  the  wall.  At  first  was  heard  at 
intervals  the  thunder  of  manganels  and  bom- 
bards ;  but  presently  they  were  silent,  showing 
that  the  surprised  enemy  had  been  driven  back 
from  the  guns. 

Meanwhile,  a  galley  had  silently  been  making 
its  way  along  the  seaward  shore  of  Malamocco. 
It  was  the  same  that  had  brought  Zeno  from 
Tenedos.  It  had  nearly  the  same  freight,  save 
that  its  deck  was  now  more  crowded  with 
armed  men,  whose  tall  forms  and  gallant  bear- 
ing, shewed  that  they  had  been  picked  from 
among  a  number.  As  soon  as  it  had  arrived 
near  the  Port  of  Lido,  it  turned  back,  and 
moved  along  the  shore  very  slowly,  as  if  those 
on  board  were  seeking  for  a  landing  place. 
It  was  so  ;  the  darkness  of  the  night,  and  the 
change  which  the  foe  had  made  upon  the  island 
had  so  altered  its  aspect,  that  those  on  board 
could  not  know  it  again.  Near  the  mouth  of 
the  port,  the  shore  jutted  out  somewhat  under 
the  water,  but  at  a  little  distance  from  it  they 
knew  that  there  was  a  better  landing,  and  there, 
too,  they  had  learnt  that  the  Genoese,  little  fear- 
ing attack  from  the  seaward,  had  but  a  weak 
palisade  in  place  of  the  stronger  wall  that  faced 
the  land,  and  turned  the  corners  at  the  edge  of 
the  water.  This  palisade  it  was  their  object  to 
make  ;  but  the  darkness,  and  the  altered  build- 
ings, confused  their  senses  ;  and  while  Edward 
insisted  that  tliey  had  already  gained  the  place 
of  which  they  were  in  search,  Liugi  Morosini 
was  strong  in  the  belief  that  he  recognized  a 
tower  which  they  had  passed,  like  another,  he 
said,  which  also  lay  nearer  the  port  than  the 
spot  they  sought.  Zeno  left  it  to  them  ;  for  the 
change  had  been  even  greater  since  he  depart- 
ed fromVenice,  than  it  was  since  they  had  is- 
sued from  the  port  that  night  when  they  went 
to  bring  him  back  to  the  city.  Edward  toe, 
perforce,  yielded  to  the  better  knowledge  to 
which  il  Grasso  pretended.  Already  they  heard 
the  tumult  which  arose  when  Navagero  made 
liis  attack ;  then  it  swelled ;  the  manganels 
ceased  too  soon  for  the  trusty  leaders  of  the 
Venetians  to  have  been  repulsed,  and  they 
guessed  that  the  wall  was  passed.  Still  the 
tumult  ashore  went  on,  and  still  the  galley  made 
its  silent  way.  Edward  turned  an.xiously  to- 
wards the  fresh  east  wind,  which  bore  them 
rapidly  past  the  landing  place.  In  the  dim  light 
they  could  barely  discern  a  tower,  as  it  seemed 
to  glide  past  them  ;  and  now  Morosini  turned 
the  head  of  the  galley  to  the  land.  Edward  went 
forward,  and.  leaning  over  the  bow,  tried  to 
pierce  the  gloom  towards  the  shore  ;  but  the 
beating  of  the  waves  told  him  nothing.  He  had 
scarcely  regained  the  stern,  before  a  sudden 
crash,  and  some  confusion  below,  told  him  that 
the  oars  on  the  right  side  of  the  ves;-iel  had 
many  of  them  broken,  and  presently  the  bottom 
of  the  ship  itself  grated  heavily  and  harshly  up- 
on the  mingled  sand  and  mud  that  stretched 
out  in  patches  from  the  shore.  The  cry  which 
arose  ainong  the  rowers,  who  had  been  thrown 
down,  and  among  the  bowmen,  was  answered 
by  one  long, loud  shout  on  the  shore  ;  and  a 


man's  figure  was  seen  to  arise  against  the  dim 
light  of  the  sky  at  the  top  of  the  tower. 

"  Silence  !"  cried  Edward,  as  he  hastened  to 
the  siern.  "  Zanni,  run  forward  and  silence 
those  men.  Luigi  mio,  we  must  get  her  off  as 
fast  as  we  may,  andthe  darkness  which  betray- 
ed us,  will  help  us  to  avoid  the  Genoese  before 
they  know  the  prize  that  has  fallen  to  them." 

Under  the  hasty  directions  of  Edward  and 
Morosini,  every  pole  that  the  vessel  afforded, 
and  many  of  their  oars,  were  now  thrust  out 
on  the  right  bow,  and  the  vigorous  strain  of  a 
hundred  arms  urged  it  slowly  and  steadily  back 
from  the  place  where  it  had  settled.  But  the 
wind,  which  had  been  shifting  as  the  darkness 
diminished,  now  sent  them,  as  in  very  spite, 
forward  again,  and  the  stem  again  ground  hard 
upon  the  sand,  though  a  little  farther  from  the 
tower.  From  the  noise  on  shore,  and  what 
they  could  see  of  the  moving  figures  on  the 
tower,  they  were  aware  that  the  guard  had 
been  roused.  Without  long  delay,  a  few  arrows 
fell  amongst  them,  and  some  stuck  quivering  in 
the  deck.  Edward  could  only  in  part  silence 
the  shout  of  defiance  amonghis  own  men,  which 
now  marked  to  the  Genoese  where  the  strand- 
ed vessel  lay,  and  a  thicker  flight  of  arrows  fol- 
lowed. Some  stifled  cries,  and  another  shout, 
though  not  so  loud  as  before,  showed  that  many 
of  the  weapons  fell  upon  something  different 
from  wood.  Another  attempt  was  made  to 
drive  the  galley  from  the  shore,  but  with  no 
better  success.  And  now  the  arrows  of  the 
Genoese  fell  like  rain.  Cooped  up  at  the  mer- 
cy of  the  enemy,  and  unable  even  to  struggle 
against  the  dangers  that  assailed  them,  the 
Venetians  were  struck  with  terrjr,  and  ran 
hither  and  thither  in  their  confusicn.  Many  of 
them,  leaving  their  oars,  gathered  together  in 
the  bow,  and  took  counsel  among  themselves. 
Soiue  sought  under  the  deck  a  shelter  from  the 
iron  storm  which  raged  above  ;  and  the  boldest 
among  thein  stood  with  their  arms  folded  in 
sullen  indifference.  A  bright  flash  of  light 
above  the  tower,  and  a  noise  like  thunder,  was 
followed  presently  by  a  heavy  splash  at  the  side 
of  the  ship. 

•'  The  rogues  !"  cried  Luigi ;  "that  is  one  of 
our  cannon.  They  have  not  yet  made  them  to 
throw  so  far,  nor  such  heavy  stones." 

As  he  spoke,  the  murmer  among  the  crew 
grew  louder,  and  presently  a  few  among  them 
drew  nigh,  while  those  behind  raised  cries  to 
surrender. 

"  Now,  Zanni,"  said  Luigi,  "  what  is  it  1 
Have  your  friends  again  sent  you  on  some 
traitorous  errand  1" 

"  They  say,"  answered  the  man,  '*  that  it  is 
useless  to  fight  thus,  when  we  have  nothing  but 
the  dark  to  meet  and  the  wind  :  while  these 
good  Genoese  can  skewer  us  all  at  leisure,  like 
larks  brought  to  market ;  and  we  may  be 
drowned  here  on  this  muddy  shoal,  if  we  wait 
till  the  galley  breaks  up  with  the  beating  of  the 
waves.  They  say,  Messer  Luigi,  that  if  we  do 
surrender,  and  declare  that  we  have  Messer 
Zeno  on  board  ;  that  Doria  will  he  so  jdeased  at 
that  prize,  that  we  shall  be  saved,  and  welcom- 
ed on  shore  with  lights  and  feasting." 

"Is  that  what  you  would  have,  Zanni  1 
Who  gave  this  counsel  —  it  was  not  you! 
Show  me  the  inan — show  me  the  Genoese  that 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


said  this.  Bring  him  here,  and  fetch  me  a 
light,  that  we  may  look  at  him.  Is  this  the 
price  you  put  upon  Zeno,  that  you  think  him 
worth  no  more  than  this  galley,  and  all  who 
are  in  iti  or,  rather,  would  it  be  cheap  if  all 
were  lost,  so  that  we  kept  him  safely  for  Ven- 
ice, who  sent  us  to  fetch  him  !  Bring  rae  the 
man  here." 

The  mariners  seemed  somewhat  abashed, 
and  stood  in  silence;  hut  the  shots  behind 
them  did  not  cease,  when  the  voice  of  Carlo 
Zeno  was  heard  loud  above  the  tumult — "  Who 
talks  of  surrendering  1"  he  cried,  "the  Geno- 
ese ]  Hark  !  hear  you  those  shouts — the  shout 
of  victory  of  your  fellow  Venetians,  as  they 
seize  the  stronghold  of  our  enemies'!  Hark 
again :  the  Venetians  have  gained  the  fort. 
Let  us  be  with  them.  Ola,"  he  cried,  "  is  there 
one  among  you  that  can  swiml  Give  me  a 
man  that  will  face  the  waters,  ay,  and  death 
for  me,  if  you  have  such." 

The  sound  of  his  voice  was  like  a  spell  upon 
the  men — the  old  familiar  shout  that  they  had 
so  often  before  heard,  in  tempest  and  in  dan- 
ger, and  had  so  often  conquered  by,  drove 
away  their  fears,  while  it  surprised  them  into 
the  habit  of  obedience.  Many  of  them  rushed 
to  the  stern  ;  where  stood  Zeno  and  Edward, 
who  had  persuaded  him  to  take  the  command 
which  Luigi  had  lost. 

"  Now,"  cried  Zeno,  as  the  men  ran  up  to 
him,  "which  of  you  can  swim  bestl" 

"I,"  and  "I,"  and  "I,"  cried  many  voices. 

"Nay,  I  want  not  more  than  one,  and  let 
me  not  have  any  but  the  best.  Tell  me,  all 
of  you,  which  is  it  that  is  strongest  in  the 
water  1" 

"  I  am,"  said  Zanni ;  "  they  will  all  tell  you 
so." 

"  Strip,  then,  and  let  me  see  your  limbs,  if 
the  darkness  will  let  me.  And  now,  my  friend, 
can  you  brave  a  little  salt  water!  Listen  then 
— get  ashore,  with  a  rope  in  your  hand,  and 
make  us  a  path  to  the  land  ;  if  we  cannot  get 
our  galley  off,  we  will  land  where  we  needs 
must." 

Zanni  made  no  answer,  but  knitting  his 
limbs,  walked  slowly  to  the  side,  and  threw 
his  legs,  one  after  another,  over  the  bulwark. 
He  still  hung  with  one  arm  firmly  over  the 
side  of  the  vessel,  until,  in  its  rolling,  it  came 
nearer  to  the  water,  then,  dropping  straight 
down,  he  cleared  a  high  wave  without  a  splash. 
Many  eyes  strained  after  him,  until  he  reap- 
peared some  ten  or  twenty  cubits  from  the 
ship. 

"  It  will  do  !"  cried  Zeno  ;  "  If  we  could 
have  made  a  fish  do  our  office,  we  should  not 
have  done  better.  And  now,  boys,  let  us  also 
bestir  ourselves.  An  arrow  will  find  us  as 
readily  when  we  are  still,  as  when  we  are  at 
work." 

Animated  by  his  words,  the  rowers  again 
strained  every  nerve,  hut  now  to  thrust  the  gal- 
ley farther  towards  the  shore.  The  wind  fa- 
Tored  their  efforts,  and  slowly,  and  with  many 
a  hinderance  the  heavy  ship  glided  forward. 
Realizing  .so  soon  the  success  that  Zeno  seem- 
ed always  to  cijmmand,  the  di.scipline  of  the 
mcD  improved,  and  they  silently  drifted  in. 
Another  bur^t  of  light,  however,  thougli  it  sent 
the  mass  of  btone  far  away  from  the  galley,  in 


its  course,  again  disclosed  the  Venetians  to 
their  foe,  and  the  next  flight  of  arrows  spent 
its  full  force  upon  them. 

"Now  boys,"  cried  Zeno,  "to  your  oars; 
the  water  is  deep  here."  As  he  spoke,  seizing 
the  rope,  of  which  Zanni  on  the  land  held  tho- 
other,  he  jumped  from  the  ship,  and  partly 
swimming,  and  partly  wading,  he  dragged  him- 
self swiftly  to  the  shore.  By  the  same  rude 
bridge  followed  others,  and  more,  until  the 
whole  were  on  shore ;  Edward  closing  the 
rear.  Still  the  manganels  kept  up  a  fire  at  in 
tervals,  and  the  better  light  enabled  those  on 
the  tower  to  see  them.  "  This  is  no  palisade," 
cried  Zeno;  "but  a  sound  wall;"  and  he 
moved  towards  it  to  try  its  height.  The  grounr 
beneath  it  was  rough,  rising  in  a  low  broken 
bank.  He  began  to  climb  it — he  staggered — 
he  fell.  At  first  they  thought  that  he  had  only 
stumbled.  But  as  he  endeavored  to  rise,  they 
saw  him  stagger  and  fall  backwards  :  he  lay 
quite  still.  In  an  instant  Edward  and  Luigi 
were  at  his  side ;  knowing  that  he  must  be 
wounded.  With  his  hand  he  pointed  to  his 
throat,  and  in  the  imperfect  light,  they  saw 
that  there  was  an  arrow  sticking  there  ;  but 
he  was  silent. 

"  He  does  not  faint,"  said  Edward,  "  for  I 
can  feel  his  hand  grasp  mine.  I  fear  me  that 
he  cannot  speak."  Zeno  grasped  the  shaft  of 
the  arrow,  which  was  short  and  thick,  and 
strove  to  draw  it  from  his  throat ;  but  the  pain 
had  weakened  him,  and  he  signed  to  Edward 
to  draw  it  out.  Edward  looked  close  to  the 
wound,  and  seeing  as  well  as  he  could  for  the 
darkness,  he  found  that  the  iron  still  remained 
in  great  part  outside,  and  therefore  not  fearing 
to  tear  the  flesh,  he  pressed  with  his  fingers 
gently  on  the  sides  of  the  wound,  and  drew  the 
weapon  forth. 

"Does  it  bleed  muchi"  said  Luigi. 

"  I  can  feel  the  blood  on  my  fingers,"  an- 
swered Edward,  "  but  there  does  not  seem 
much." 

"And  yet,"  said  Luigi,  "loan  feel  him 
clutch  my  hand,  as  though  the  pain  were 
worse.  He  is  choking,  and  we  have  no  sur- 
geon here." 

They  watched  him  as  he  lay,  his  limbs 
quivering  slightly,  and  his  strength  seeming  to 
grow  less  ;  and  already  they  feared  that  they 
had  brought  him  to  Venice  merely  to  be  carried 
to  the  tomb. 

"He  would  have  us  to  do  something,"  said 
Luigi.     "What  is  it,  sir T' 

Zeno  was  making  signs  with  his  hands. 

"I  think,"  said  Edward,  "that  he  would 
have  us  turn  him  round."  They  laid  him  on  his 
face,  and  the  blood  which  had  flowed  into  his 
throat  and  choked  him,  now  ran  freely  from 
the  wound.  They  could  feel  from  the  stillness 
of  his  hands  that  he  was  easier.  But  how  to 
remove  him!  Edward  looked  up  once  more 
towards  the  tower  and  the  wall,  and  thought, 
almost  with  despair,  how  the  wounded  man 
lay,  in  that  narrow  strip  of  ground  between  the 
sea  and  the  enemy.  He  began  to  deem  it  the 
safest  to  force  their  way  through  the  enemy  ; 
and  scarcely  had  the  thouglit  crossed  his  mind, 
ere  Zeno  himself  reviving,  made  a  sign  that 
they  should  lift  him  over  the  wall.  His  wound 
had  now  ceased  to  bleed  so  violently  as  it  did 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


89 


Before,  and  Edward  prepared  to  obey.  His 
first  task  was  to  take  the  wall;  on  which  he 
could  dimly  descry  the  moving  forms  of  those 
who  manned  it.  He  stood  not  upon  stratagem  ; 
but  making  his  men  bring  their  ladders,  they 
were  laid  against  the  wall ;  and  while  some 
held  them  tightly  to  it,  others  scrambled  up, 
Edv;ard  at  their  head.  He  was  seized  at  the 
tap  by  many  hands  that  strove  to  throw  him 
back ;  and  sharp  was  the  struggle ;  but  Ed- 
ward fought  for  more  than  life,  and  after  one 
fierce  embrace  on  that  perilous  stone  couch, 
both  besiegers  and  besieged  toppled  in  together. 
By  great  good  fortune,  as  Zeno  had  reckoned, 
only  a  small  force  remained  to  guard  that  sea- 
bound  post ;  and  the  Venetians  had  no  hard 
labor  to  force  them  back.  Without  waiting  to 
assail  the  tower,  Edward  helped  those  below 
to  raise  the  wounded  general  to  the  wall ;  and 
once  within  it,  they  hurried  forward,  carrying 
him  in  their  arms,  and  shouting.  "  Viva  San 
Marco  !  Carlo  Zeno  !  Carlo  Zeno  !"  The  few 
whom  they  encountered  fled  before  them,  or 
throwing  down  their  arms,  craved  protection  ; 
and  still  as  they  hurried  on,  a  new  standard 
was  unfurled  upon  the  farthest  wall  by  the 
Port  of  Lido — it  bore  the  winged  lion  of  Saint 
Mark.  They  had  come  just  in  time  to  share 
the  victory,  and  in  the  name  of  Zeno  and  of 
Venice  to  grant  mercy  to  the  prisoned  Genoese. 
Presently  there  was  a  new  shouting  towards 
the  port,  and  where  the  wall  was  lowest  they 
might  see  above  it  the  mast  of  a  galley  pass 
hastily  along ;  while  the  Venetians  who  had 
already  manned  that  battlement,  were  shouting 
as  if  in  triumph,  and  discharging  arrows  at  the 
passing  vessel.  "  Pisani,"  exclaimed  Edward, 
"  has  done  his  duty  ;  the  Genoese  are  flying." 
Another  galley  was  now  seen  to  pass  as  hastily 
as  the  first.  Th  7  would  have  carried  Zeno 
within  that  he  might  be  tended  ;  but  he  made 
signs  that  they  should  bear  him  to  the  port, 
and  there  reclining  upon  the  wall,  a  leech  was 
brought  to  him,  while  he  looked  out  upon  the 
lagoon.  He  watched  for  Vittor  Pisani,  whom 
he  had  sent  to  drive  the  Genoese  from  the 
waters  of  Saint  Mark.  Already  they  could  see 
a  fleet  of  galleys  hastening  towards  the  port — 
first  there  were  some  two  or  three  fugitive 
Genoese,  straining  every  nerve  to  escape  the 
pursuers  behind,  and  to  dash  through  the  port 
now  guarded  by  their  enemy.  They  went  on 
their  way,  but  as  they  passed,  some  few  drops 
of  blood  marked  the  skill  of  the  bowmen  in  the 
fort  that  made  sport  of  their  flight.  Then 
came  the  body  of  the  fleet,  dashing  and  crowd- 
ing into  the  port.  There  was  a  space  behind 
them,  and  two  galleys  might  be  seen  running 
a  race  for  the  outlet.  The  one  to  the  right  of 
those  who  viewed  it  from  the  fort,  bore  the 
standard  of  Saint  Mark  A  cavalier  was  stand- 
ing at  its  prow,  sword  in  hand  :  by  the  golden 
fess  upon  the  blue  ground,  blazoned  on  his 
jupon,  It  was  Taddeo  Justiniani.  The  object  of 
the  Venetian  was  to  cut  off  the  path  of  the  Gen- 
oese galley,  which  came  more  to  the  left,  and 
which  in  turn  was  striving  to  make  the  outlet 
before  the  Venetian.  The  race  was  nearly 
even  ;  hut  the  Genoese  was  too  much  on  one 
side  of  the  channel,  and  thus  its  path  was  a  trifle 
longer.  All  its  men  stood  moveless  on  the 
aide  next  the  foe.  Every  eye  was  strained  as 
M 


the  two  paths  drew  to  a  point.  They  neared 
the  oars  of  the  Venetians  ceased  for  an  instant 
that  they  might  take  the  galley  in  its  flank ; 
then  they  beat  the  water  again,  and  dashed  fu- 
riously against  the  other  galley ;  Justiniani 
standing  ready  to  leap  on  board  at  the  instant 
that  they  touched.  The  whole  of  the  men  in 
the  Genoese  galley  rushed  to  its  right  side, 
their  weight  and  that  of  all  the  things  that 
that  they  had  already  passed  to  that  side, 
bringing  it  down  close  to  the  water,  throwing 
the  opposite  bulwark  high  into  the  air,  and 
hiding  the  two  parties  from  each  other.  As 
they  leaped,  the  Venetians  fell  against  the  wet 
and  slippery  sides  of  the  galley  ;  many  toppling 
into  the  water,  where  they  sank  from  the 
weight  of  their  arms.  The  Genoese  shouted 
in  derision,  as  they  heard  the  splash  and  tu- 
mult. One  Venetian  alone  retained  his  hold  : 
it  was  Taddeo  Justiniani,  who  had  leaped  the 
first,  and  who  was  now  thrown  by  the  force  of 
his  leap  right  into  the  Genoese  galley,  and  went 
running  and  stumbling  alone  among  the  enemy  ; 
but  no  fear  mastered  his  heart.  H  astily  scramb- 
ling  to  the  nearest  mast,  he  passed  his  left  arm 
round  it,  while  with  his  right  he  struck  fierce 
and  fast  on  those  who  assailed  him ;  the 
slanting  deck  gave  them  a  bad  footing,  and 
many  a  man  fell  under  the  blows  which  he 
dealt  from  his  vantage-ground.  Seeing  how- 
he  withstood  so  many,  the  captain  of  the  gal- 
ley made  his  men  go  back  to  the  other  side, 
so  that  the  galley  righted,  and  now  from  the 
shore  they  saw  that  Taddeo  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  mast,  defending  himself  against 
death  from  the  swords  that  must  slay  him  by 
their  numbers.  The  Genoese  called  out  to  him 
to  yield,  while  some  few  went  forward  to  at- 
tack him  from  behind  ;  turning  to  this  new  en- 
emy he  left  the  others,  and  striking  the  first  he 
met  he  rushed  to  the  bow  of  the  vessel — he 
leaped  onto  the  beak — dropped  into  the  lagoon, 
and  strove  to  swim  for  the  shore,  liking  rather 
to  yield  to  the  waters  of  his  native  country 
than  to  the  cruel  mercy  of  the  Genoese;  but 
his  arms  were  heavy,  his  strength  was  spent, 
he  could  not  even  answer  the  shouts  of  the 
friends  whose  hands  were  stretched  out  to  him 
in  vain,  and  before  his  own  galley  could  reach 
him,  he  had  suck  to  rise  no  more. 

No  hostile  eyes  witnessed  his  last  struggle, 
for  when  they  would  have  pursued  him  as  he 
rushed  to  the  bow  of  the  galley,  a  fresh  assault 
made  the  Genoese  think  only  of  their  own 
safety;  their  galley  staggered  under  a  violent 
shock,  and  before  they  were  aware  of  it,  Vittor 
Pisani,  who  had  remained  to  sweep  the  last  of 
their  vessels  from  the  canal,  marking  the  dan- 
ger of  his  friend,  had  come  to  h*is  help — too  late 
to  save  him,  but  not  to  revenge.  Seeing  that 
all  hope  was  gone,  the  Genoese  drew  them- 
selves together,  determined  to  sell  their  lives  as 
dearly  as  possible  ;  they  would  not  ask  for 
mercy,  they  would  not  give  it,  but  hewed  down 
by  Pisani  on  one  side,  and  by  the  men  of  Jus- 
tiniani, who  now  came  on  board  with  little  re- 
sistance on  the  other  side,  they  stood  to  be 
reaped  down  in  a  bloody  harvest.  Say,  when 
Vittor  Pisani  stood  master  of  the  galley,  how 
many  Venetians,  after  that  dance  of  battle, 
shared  With  the  Genoese  the  bloody  bed  of 
leath  : 


90 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 


After  leaving  Zeno,  it  was  Ilanieri's  care  to 
keep  himself  as  much  as  possible  alone  in  Se- 
l)astian's  tent,  so  that  no  interruption  might  be 
offered  to  his  next  conversation  with  Roberto 
(la  Recanati,  and  he  instinctively  provided  lor 
his  contest  with  the  crafty  man,  by  keeping 
ready  to  his  hand  a  book  whicli  he  read  from 
time  to  time,  though  his  thoughts  ever  wan- 
dered to  more  stirring  matters.  The  day  was 
well  nigh  spent  before  the  condottiere  came. 
While  he  seemed  to  note  him  not,  Ranieri 
caught  at  once  the  sound  of  his  stealthy  foot- 
step ;  he  drew  near  to  the  stool  on  which  the 
youth  sat  and  laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
Ranieri  started  round,  as  if  taken  by  surprise, 
and  looked  in  Recanati's  face  like  one  who 
would  know  what  he  wanted. 

"  You  have  not  forgotten,"  began  the  Floren- 
tine, "  of  what  we  talked  the  other  day  1" 

"  Truly  no,"  answered  Ranieri,  "  and  I  have 
not  misused  my  time." 

"  Tell  me  then  how  you  have  speeded." 

Ranieri  paused,  and  smiling,  he  replied,  "I 
think  that  it  is  not  for  me  to  begin  to  tell  any- 
thing yet,  rather  should  you  tell  and  I  hear 
more." 

"  How  so  :'■  asked  the  condottiere,  "  what 
said  Mosser  Sebastiano!" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you  of  what  Messer 
Sebastiano  has  said,  nor  shall  I.  Think  of  me 
as  Sebastian  himself:  speak  to  me  as  Sebas- 
tian, and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  say." 

'■  Why  this,"  replied  the  soldier,  "is  making 
compacts  with  one  who  keeps  in  tiie  dark.  How 
ran  1  treat  with  Messer  Sebastiano,  if  all  the 
talk  is  on  my  side  ]  Is  it  nothing  that  we  offer 
him  such  power  and  such  possessions  as,  though 
he  were  to  live  to  be  the  oldest  man  in  Venice, 
he  never  could  attain  1  and  we  offer  it  for  him 
or  his  father  at  once  :  it  is  for  him  to  choose 
his  prize." 

"  Ay  ;  you  offer  to  give  him  some  small  part 
of  what  you  are  losing  in  despair,  in  order  to 
keep  the  rest;  and  he  would  lose  in  your  de- 
feat the  whole  of  what  he  has.  You  know, 
Messer  Roberto,  to  what  Sebastian  may  look 
one  day.  You  know  that  there  is  no  station  in 
Venice  which  he  cannot  enter,  having,  so  young, 
achieved  such  high  fame.  You  know  that  the 
ducal  robe  itself  has  been  worn  by  others  of  his 
family  ;  and  tiiat  it  may  be  so  again,  even  with- 
out the  aid  of  Messer  Roberto  da  Recanati.  For 
him  tlie  only  gain  in  your  success  would  be  one 
of  time — the  risk  and  the  danger,  I  say,  are  all 
on  his  side  ;  and  if  you  would  have  his  aid,  you 
mu:  t  have  it  on  his  own  terms.  I  tell  you  that 
I  ai;i  Sebastian  ;  and  that  if  you  are  defeated,  I 
alone  will  take  the  risk.  If  you  win,  more 
powerful  hands  than  mine  shall  crown  your  tri- 
umph.    Have  it  so,  or  not  at  all." 

The  condottiere  looked  hard  and  thoughtfully 
at  Ranieri  ;  who  leaned  his  arm  upon  the  table, 
with  his  head  resting  upon  his  hand,  as  though 
he  would  give  the  other  all  his  own  time  for 
reflection — '■  You  speak  in  riddles,"  said  Reca- 
nati, "and  if  you  fear  to  speak  more  plainly, 
truly  we  can  go  no  farther  in  this  matter." 

"  I  tell  you  tliat  the  risk  is  all  ours  ;  the  gain 
viU  be  all  yours  ;  for  you  are  now  losing,  and 
hercfore  must  you  have  it  so,  or  not  at  all." 


Recanati  pressed  his  lips  together,  and  his 
black  eyebrows  met  in  a  fierce  frown,  as,  look- 
ing at  Ranieri  with  a  new  expression,  he  cried, 
"  How  shall  I  know,  young  man,  but  that  you 
are  playing  with  mel  How  shall  I  know  that 
I  may  speak  to  you  as  to  Messer  Sebastiano, 
with  his  leave  V 

"  Why,"  answered  the  youth,  carelessly, 
"that  is  one  of  your  chances  :  Messer  Sebas- 
tiano will  not  appear  to  you,  nor  speak  to  you, 
while  you  are  losing  all,  and  he  can  gain  nothing 
but  disgrace.  If  you  need  proof  that  he  has 
given  me  his  power,  which  is  no  small  one, 
take  it  in  the  command  I  hold  here.  Think  you, 
that  if  I  were  not  as  Sebastian  himself,  that  I, 
young  as  I  am,  should  have  the  obedience  of 
his  men  V 

Stepping  to  the  door  of  the  tent,  he  called 
out,  "  Ola,  Ordelaffo  !"  and  then  walked  back  to 
the  table.  A  soldier  appeared,  and  respectfully 
waited  the  youth's  command. 

"  Have  your  men,"  said  Ranieri,  "  retired  to 
rest  1" 

"But  now,  my  lord,"  answered  the  man. 

"  Rouse  them  instantly,  fur  I  may  need  them ; 
and  bring  them  here  into  the  open  ground  be- 
fore my  tent." 

The  man  bowed  and  retired. 

"  It  is  long,"  said  the  youth,  as  he  resumed 
his  seat,  "  since  you  were  at  Florence,  Messer 
Roberto.  You  must  weary  of  this  camp  life 
after  the  amusements  of  your  own  city." 

The  condottiere  did  not  answer,  but  looked 
at  his  companion  as  if  half  amused  and  half 
perplexed.  They  remained  silent  for  some  mi- 
nutes, during  which  Ranieri  had  taken  up  his 
book.  Presently  there  was  a  sound  of  many 
feet  outside,  and  Ordelaffo  re-entered  the  tent. 

",We  await  your  commands,  Messer  Ra- 
nieri," he  said. 

"  Stay  awhile  without,  sir,"  replied  the  youth : 
"Messer Recanati  and  I  will  be  with  you  anon, 
and  may  need  you  or  release  you  to  your  beds, 
as  we  shall  determine." 

Ordelaffo  again  retired,  with  an  obeisance. 

"You  see,"  cried  Ranieri,  turning  to  Reca- 
nati, "  that  I  am  Sebastian  here  ;  and  truly  I 
think  you  will  be  in  danger  of  little  mistake,  if 
I  am  Sebastian  also  to  you.  You  will  have 
none  other  as  yet ;  therefore  must  you  be  con- 
tent with  this  poor  shape  of  that  nobler  gentle- 
man, my  friend,  or  you  must  leave  your  enter 
prise.  So  now,  Messer  da  Recanati,  take  your 
free  choice." 

The  condottiere  hesitated ;  then  suddenly 
putting  on  a  frank  manner,  he  cried,  "  Be  it  so, 
Messer  Sebastiano  Morosini ;  I  shall  doubt  no 
longer.  So  what  say  you  of  your  own  proper 
mouth  V 

"  Nay,  nay,"  cried  Ranieri,  smiling,  "  I  have 
still  the  same  answer  for  you.  It  is  you  that 
are  to  speak,  not  I.  What  say  you,  Messer  da 
Recanati  !  How  am  I,  Sebastian  Morosini,  to 
know  that  you  have  the  power  you  boast  1  You 
see  me  here  in  Sebastian's  tent,  leading  Sebas- 
tian's men.  who  attend  my  bidding  without, 
holding  Sebastian's  powers  ;  but  how  know  I 
that  you  have  entry  into  Chiozza  ;  that  you 
have  the  ear  of  Carrara,  and  power  to  speak 
for  himl  I  have  shown  you  all  that  I  possess 
before  we  began  our  compact.  You  have  let 
me   see  nothmg ;  thinking,   perhaps,   that  sa 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


91 


voung  as  I  am,  I  may  be  ready  of  faith.  But 
remember,  that  if  I  have  Sebastian's  powers, 
also  I  have  Sebastian's  years,  and  Sebastian's 
counsel." 

"  What  would  you  1  You  know  as  much  as 
I  can  show  you — Messer  Sebastiano  knows  how 
Alessandro  da  Padova — " 

"I  know  all  that  Sebastian  knows  ;  but  Se- 
bastian himself  knows  not  how  things  have  al- 
tered since  the  fortunes  of  war  have  altered — 
how  you,  (I  say  it  not  to  ofiend  you,  Messer 
Recanati)  being  trapped  into  a  difficulty  by  the 
cunning  Carrara,  rnay  be  using  me  to  escape 
from  your  trouble,  secretly,  and  without  the 
privity  of  Carrara.  Look  you,  I  have  shown 
you  all  my  power ;  before  we  go  farther,  you 
shall  show  me  yours,  if  you  would  have  us  be 
allies." 

"  What  is  it  you  ask  1" 

"  Proof  that  you  have  the  ear  of  Carrara." 

"  Why,  do  you  not  see  the  command  I  have 
here  1  Do  you  not  see  the  secret  powers  that 
I  have  held,  and  which  well-nigh  cost  me  my 
life  last  night  V 

"  I  know  you,  Messer  Recanati,  for  one  of 
tliediscreetest  and  aslutest  of  condottieri ;  and 
1  see,  that  great  part  of  the  hired  troops  here 
assembled  look  up  to  you  for  counsel." 

"  Have  you  not  noted  the  power  I  hold  over 
these  soldiers  ;  and  do  you  believe  that  I  could 
hold  it,  but  that  I  have  held  the  purse — that  I 
liave  had  money  V 

"  I  know  that  you  are  the  most  sought  after 
of  all  your  craft,  and  that  you  have  been  well 
paid,  Messer  da  Recanati ;  you  have  treasure, 
I  doubt  not,  stored  up  in  Florence." 

"  Little  of  that,  indeed,  as  you  will  learn,  if 
ever  you  carry  on  the  trade  of  a  condottiere. 
But  how  can  I  give  you  proof  of  what  you  ask, 
here  in  Pelestrina  ^  There  is  no  such  proof, 
unless  you  were  to  be  m  Chiozza  itself,  and 
see  the  conference  I  hold  with  Carrara." 

"  Be  it  so." 

"  Be  it  so  !  but  how  can  it  be  so  !  how  can 
any  stranger  enter  that  fortress,  or  how  would 
you  venture  thither  by  your  own  will!" 

"  As  to  the  venturing,  Messer  da  Recanati,  do 
not  believe  that  any  danger  will  stop  me — or  if 
Sebastian  thought  that  it  would,  I  should  not 
now  hold  the  powers  I  do,  or  speak  to  you  as 
from  himself  For  the  rest,  take  your  choice. 
I  will  have  the  proof  you  named,  or  you  shall 
not  have  my  alliance." 

"  In  sooth,  Giovinetto,  you  are  as  difficult  to 
deal  withal  as  a  woman ;  you  are  so  proud  and 
wilful,  you  ask  what  is  impossible." 

"  I  am  not  yet  so  61d  as  you,  Messer  Roberto, 
and  have  not  learnt  to  use  that  word  impossi- 
sible.  When  I  have  been  witii  you  to  Chiozza 
we  will  talk  farther." 

Ranieri  rose  from  his  chair  and  took  off  his 
cloak,  as  if  to  prepare  for  rest ;  to  hint  tiiat  his 
visiter  might  retire.  After  a  short  silence, 
Recanati  said,  "  I  leave  you  then,  Messer  Ra- 
nieri :  a  rivodcrci."  Recanati  stepped  towards 
the  entrance  of  the  tent ;  but  then  returning, 
he  said,  "  Have  you  bethought  you,  young  man, 
that  there  is  danger  in  playing  too  far  with 
men  intent  upon  a  desperate  game  ]" 

"  I  have  thought  of  all,  and  am  as  yoii  see, 
unarmed.  I  am  ready  to  go  with  you,  also  un 
armed,  wherever  you  like.     There  are  some 


things  that  we  will  not  tmst  to  any  man,  ana 
there  are  other  things  which  we  will  trust  l» 
any.  I  will  not  trust  Sebastian's  fame  and  for- 
tune in  your  hands  ;  but  this  body,  comely  as  it 
is,  and  of  price  to  its  owner  and  divers  young 
damsels,  you  shall  have  in  pawn  when  you  list." 
He  continued  slowly  unbuttoning  his  vest. 

"  You  are  the  boldest  spoken  lad  tliat  ever  I 
encountered.  Undress  no  farther,  my  friend, 
for  I  will  humor  you  sooner  than  you  might 
think.     What  if  I  were  to  take  you  nowV 

"  Why  then,  as  the  night  is  cold,  I  shall  put 
on  my  cloak  again." 

"  I  will  not,  however,  disturb  you  so  un- 
awares." 

"At  your  own  lime.  But  having  on  my 
cloak,  I  will  go  forth  to  dismiss  the  men." 

"  You  are  a  strange  youth,  Messer  Ranieri. 
You  shall  hear  from  me  again  ;  but  now  I  take 
my  leave."     And  he  departed. 


CHAPTER  XLHL 

The  blow  on  the  Genoese  atMalamocco  was 
followed  lip  with  such  resistless  might,  that 
the  whole  fortune  of  the  war  was  changed  ;  and 
the  change  might  be  noted  in  tlie  altered  bear- 
ing of  the  soldiers  ranged  under  the  standard  of 
St.  Mark.  A  cheerful  confidence  was  seen  in 
every  face,  activity  and  prompt  obedience 
reigned  throughout,  and  the  murmurs  of  treach- 
ery were  hushed.  It  were  needless  to  recount 
how  the  post  of  the  Genoese  in  Pelestrina  had 
been  assailed  like  that  at  Malamocco,  and  how 
they  craved  leave  to  retreat  to  Chiozza  ;  which 
Zeno  allowed,  to  the  surprise  of  some  among 
his  colleagues.  "Every  mouth  in  Chiozza,"  he 
answered,  "does  battle  on  our  side."  And 
soon  stories  were  told,  how  in  the  night,  large 
bands  of  prisoners,  the  people  of  the  town, 
were  carried  away  from  Chiozza  to  the  main 
land  ,  where  they  might  more  readily  be  fed. 
But  soon  the  traffic  with  the  main  land  was 
rendered  difficult ;  for  Pisaiii  pressed  so  with 
his  galleys  and  smaller  boats  upon  every  part 
that  the  enemy  were  now  driven  in  upon  Chi- 
ozza and  the  neighboring  island  Brondolo.  To 
do  all  this  Zeno  did  not  wait  for  tlie  healing  of 
his  wound,  though  that  went  on  apace;  but  seat- 
ed in  his  lodging  at  Pelestrina,  he  ordered  anew 
the  fortunes  of  Venice.  He  sent  back  the  ven- 
erable doge  to  the  city,  bidding  him  restore 
hope  and  good  rule  to  its  troubled  people.  He 
watched  the  bearing  of  the  Genoese,  as  tho  < 
toils  were  narrowed  around  them  ;  and  while 
he  evoked  the  whole  strength  and  wealth  of  his 
country  in  one  last  struggle  for  death  or  de- 
struction, he  inspired  his  countrymen  with  his 
own  resolve,  that  the  Genoese  should  be  driven 
from  the  lagoons,  or  that  Venice  should  there 
close  her  history  and  drown  her  existence  in 
the  reddened  waters.  Still,  too,  he  watched 
when  the  treachery  that  he  knew  to  lurk 
among  them  should  show  its  ugly  face  or  wick- 
ed hand  ;  but  it  seemed  to  siirink  as  the  Ge- 
noese shrunk  wiihm  themselves  :  none  was 
more  active  than  the  unconscious  traitor  Mo- 
rosini  -than  the  conscious  but  faithful  Malipi- 
ero,  rejoicing  to  wield  the  sword  in  expiation 
for  his  oath-cliained  toiijfue — than  the  vigilant 
Alessandro,  whose   dark  eye   no  man   could 


93 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHElt. 


read.  Surrounded  by  uncorrupted  bands,  Re- 
canati  remained  in  idleness  on  Pelestrina.  All 
seemed  to  go  well. 

"  At  length  Zenowas  whole  again,  and  could 
bear  arms.  Pisani  was  summoned  to  Pelestrina, 
and  close  was  the  council.  Some  hours  after- 
wards—the night  was  moonless,  but  calm  and 
tranquil — a  great  fleet  of  galleys,  and  of  all  the 
smaller  vessels  that  could  be  commanded,  was 
gradually  stealing  along  the  shore  towards  Chi- 
ozza,  so  silently  that  those  in  each  vessel  might 
have  supposed  that  it  was  alone,  or  that  only 
the  one  or  two  nearest  to  it  were  moving  like 
itself.  The  whole  fleet  moved  slowly,  as  if  the 
purpose  were  not  to  let  a  needless  sound  es- 
cape, and  to  keep  even  the  rowers  unfatigued. 
Thus  they  passed  along  the  low,  flat  shore  of 
Pelestrina.  Its  outline  showed  against  the  gray 
side  of  night,  where  the  dawn  was  to  appear ; 
and  how  changed  from  its  wonted  aspect !  No 
Email  fisher's  house  loomed  against  the  sky,  no 
vine  leaves  danced  in  the  air ;  but  all  along  were 
the  straight  and  cornered  lines  of  palisades  and 
bastions,  or  the  sharper  angles  of  tents  crowd- 
ed into  that  narrow  space.  On  their  right,  lost 
in  the  darkness,  lay  the  safe  and  quiet  waters 
uf  the  lagoon.  It  was  already  morning  when 
Ihey  arrived  at  the  port  of  Brondolo,  and  those 
which  were  foremost,  taking  a  course  to  the 
left,  made  for  the  shore  of  the  island  in  the 
Gtrait.  After  the  galleys  had  for  some  time 
turned  in  that  path,  one  of  them,  followed  as 
silently  still  by  those  behind,  pursued  the  shore 
towards  Chiozza.  The  deck  of  that  galley  was 
crowded  with  a  band  whose  death-like  silence 
denoted  the  command  that  swayed  them.  Near 
its  poop  was  gathered  a  knot  of  cavaliers  ;  some 
sitting  on  the  boards  taking  a  hasty  repose ; 
others  watching  as  well  as  they  might  m  the 
dark,  the  path  of  the  galley  through  the  waters. 
Carlo  Zeno  stood  by  the  right  side  of  the  ship, 
and  near  him  were  the  two  friends. 

"  So  far,"  he  said,  "our  path  is  smooth  and 
quiet :  the  spell  that  we  have  cast  upon  the 
lagoon  has  lulled  the  Genoese  into  the  belief 
that  we  have  grown  idle  ;  and  perchance  to  de- 
spise us.     Hear  you  any  sound  ?'" 

"Nothing,"  said  Edward,  "save  the  steady 
splash  and  rumbling  of  the  oars.  But  we  have 
yet  a  good  piece  to  go." 

"  Ay ;  our  friends  in  little  Venice  have  their 
choice  of  three  ways  to  meet  us.  They  may 
force  us  to  a  battle  on  the  shore  ;  or  they  may 
meet  us  with  courtesy,  and  give  us  all  we  ask  ; 
>  or  they  may  think  (and  it  is  more  likely)  to  trap 
us  by  suffering  us  to  land.  Every  stroke  now 
gives  us  a  better  chance  ;  and  unless  they  have 
a  stronger  force  on  tiiis  side  of  the  canal  than 
we  have  learnt,  we  could  even  now  land  faster 
than  they  could  issue  out  upon  us.  For  Pisani, 
who  has  gone  before,  will  keep  them  busy  at 
Brondolo  ;  an<i  I  know  that  we  could  now  jump 
ashore  faster  than  they  can  pass  the  bridge.  1 
have  been  fearing  day  after  day  to  hear  that 
they  had  crowded  this  place  before  us  to  stay 
our  landing;  but  if  this  scanty  light  deceive  me 
not,  there  has,  as  yet,  been  none  on  shore. 
Have  you  seen  any,  Odoardo  1  for  my  eyes 
have  been  more  turned  to  the  right  here,  watch- 
ing for  any  lights  in  Chiozza." 

"  None  ;  if  we  knew  not  otherwise  we  might 
suppose  all  the  town  deserted." 


The  course  of  the  galley  now  became  slowei 
for  some  minutes  it  glided  so  gently  that  ' 
might  almost  seem  still ;  presently  it  stopped, 
and  a  mariner  coming  towards  them  asked  if  it 
was  the  general's  pleasure  to  land,  for  that  was 
the  place. 

"  Be  it  so,"  cried  Zeno,  "  go  among  the  men, 
Sebastian,  and  let  there  be  no  hurry,  for  we 
have  less  need  of  time  than  of  silence  ;  before 
we  are  seen,  I  would  have  all  on  shore,  less 
that  I  fear  to  make  good  our  landing,  than  that 
I  wish  to  hide  our  strength.  Is  it  you,  my 
friend,  who  will  lead  us  to  the  hollow  that  I 
spoke  of  T' 

The  man  bowed  in  token  of  assent.  Gradu- 
ally the  galley  parted  with  its  living  freight, 
and  the  sound  of  footsteps  was  heard  treading 
carefully  and  steadily  on  the  shore.  The 
drowsy  cavaliers  had  now  shaken  ofT  their 
slumbers,  the  repose  of  the  short  voyage  was 
exchanged  for  a  more  active  eagerness,  and 
Zeno  passed  on  shore  amid  a  troop  whose 
measured  but  elastic  steps  showed  the  hopes 
and  courage  that  animated  each  among  them. 
All  was  quiet  on  shore.  The  troops  moved  for- 
ward after  their  guide,  and  were  lost  in  the 
silent  darkness.  Zeno  and  his  friends  remained 
by  the  water-side,  watching  the  bands  that  nim- 
bly alighted  from  the  galleys,  and  followed  in 
the  same  path. 

"  I  am  amazed,"  he  said,  "  at  the  stillness  of 
the  Genoese,  and  do  suspect  rather  some  trea- 
chery than  mere  neglect;  go,  Messer  Andrea 
Donate,  take  with  you  whom  you  will  outside 
these  hillocks,  and  learn  if  all  be  clear." 

There  was  no  sign  or  sound  of  life,  except 
the  now  steady  tramp  of  the  Venetians  inland  ; 
and  the  whole  of  the  galleys,  and  the  smaller 
boats  which  followed  them,  had  landed  their 
men,  before  the  light  could  betray  them  to 
those  within  the  neighboring  city.  Following 
in  the  rear  of  the  party.  Carlo  Zeno,  who  need- 
ed no  guide  in  treading  that  ground,  led  his 
friends  almost  on  the  ridge  of  the  slight  rising 
that  separated  the  little  marshy  hollows  from 
the  part  towards  Chiozza.  until  they  came  nearly 
opposite  to  the  great  bridge,  where  he  placed 
himself  behind  a  little  chapel,  so  that  they  might 
be  concealed  while  they  could  yet  watch.  As 
the  dawn  began  to  break,  they  could  see  more 
clearly  the  Venetian  forces  ;  and  it  was  a  mar- 
vel how  so  strong  a  band  could  have  found  its 
way  to  that  solitary  place,  with  so  little  noise 
or  confusion.  As  the  light  increased,  what  had 
seemed  mere  shadows  of  the  uneven  ground, 
grew  into  men  ;  so  that  a  goodly  force  might 
be  seen,  of  some  two  thousand  bowmen  ;  but 
in  front,  and  nearest  to  the  bridge,  was  a  small 
troop  of  William  Cooke's  sturdy  Englishmen, 
dismounted  men-at-arms.  The  morning  was 
chill,  but  clear  and  pleasant  ;  and  the  light 
clouds  that  broke  away  in  the  west  served 
rather  to  show  the  brightness  of  the  sun  than 
to  conceal  it,  as  the  English  band,  and  a  few  of 
the  bowmen  advanced  up  the  hillock  to  show 
themselves  to  the  enemy. 

"  The  sluggards  will  wait  till  we  go  to  knock 
at  their  gates,"  said  Zeno;  "and  in  sooth  I 
would  rather  fight  them  here  than  there.  Stay, 
what  is  thisl" 

As  he  spoke,  a  column  of  smoke,  so  black 
and  thick  that  it  seemed  a  solid  pillar,  rose 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


83 


from  the  city  near  the  end  of  the  bridge,  and 
fresh  masses  of  it  danced  quickly  above  the 
wall,  rising  high  up  in  the  air,  and  sailing 
slowly  away  with  the  wind. 

"That,"  cried  Zeno,  "is  no  sudden  chance, 
and  I  marvel,  since  they  must  have  known 
we  are  here,  that  they  have  not  troubled  us 
before." 

"  They  will  be  with  us  anon,"  answered 
Sebastian,  "  for  see,  here  is  one  running  to  tell 
us  that  they  come."  Ho  pointed  inland,  where 
a  man  might  be  seen  coming  as  fast  as  he 
could  run,  and  making  no  stay  to  answer  those 
who  questioned  him  as  he  passed  each  sepa- 
rate band  at  its  post.  He  made  straight  for 
the  party  behind  the  httle  chapel,  and  came 
with  such  haste,  that  when  he  made  his  obei- 
sance he  could  scarcely  speak. 

"  How  now,"  said  Zeno  ;  "  have  you  Doria 
and  all  his  men  behind  you,  that  you  come  so 
fast?' 

"  Messer  Gradenigo  has  sent  me,"  answered 
the  man,  "to  tell  you  that  we  on  the  other 
side  can  see,  in  Brondolo,  a  large  pillar  of 
smoke  rising  in  the  air." 

"Ha,"  exclaimed  the  general,  "  is  it  any- 
thing like  that  1"  and  he  pointed  to  the  smoke 
near  the  bridge  of  Chiozza. 

"Why,  it  is  its  very  counterfeit,"  answered 
the  man,  "  and  Messer  Gradenigo  thought  it 
might  be  some  signal." 

"They  think,"  said  Zeno  to  his  friends,  "  to 
enclose  us,  but  I  fear  them  not  in  Brondolo  ; 
for  they  must  eat  Pisani  before  they  can  feast 
on  us.  We  may  care  little  for  the  smoke 
behind  us,  so  that  we  watch  what  this  shall 
bring  forth.  And  it  is  not  long  first  you  see." 
He  pointed  to  the  bridge,  on  which  might  now 
be  seen  a  body  of  nrien  steadily  marching  along 
it.  They  seemed  u>  become  aware  of  the  Eng- 
lish and  Venetians  who  showed  themselves  in 
front,  for  suddenly  they  stopped  ;  but  presently 
they  moved  forward  again,  and  the  whole  outline 
of  the  bridge  showed  a  moving  row  of  figures. 

"  Tell  Messer  Gradenigo,"  said  Zeno  to  the 
messenger,  "  to  watch  well  what  he  may  see 
towards  Brondolo  ;  and  let  it  be  his  care  that 
none  come  at  our  backs,  for  we  shall  have 
work  before  us  in  plenty." 

The  man  moved  to  obey  him  ;  but  scarcely 
had  he  gone  ten  paces  from  the  chapel,  ere  a 
little  hissing  was  heard  in  the  air,  and  some 
three  or  four  arrows  fell  near  him,  one  striking 
him  on  the  neck,  so  that  he  fell  badly  wounded. 

"Why,  what  is  thisi"  cried  Zeno;  "have 
the  Genoese  some  friends  in  heaven  that  fight 
for  them  r' 

"  It  is  likely  enough,"  answered  Edward, 
"  for  I  think  the  mischief  comes  from  this  holy 
place." 

He  held  out  his  hand  towards  a  little  hell- 
tower  which  stood  some  distance  from  the 
chapel.  And  the  general  now  noticed  that 
what  seemed  but  an  appendage  to  the  holy 
building  had  been  walled  about  with  a  strong 
palisade  of  wood,  as  if  to  block  their  en- 
trance. All  looked  quiet,  however,  and  there 
was  no  sign  that  it  held  any  people. 

"How  like  a  holy  hypocrite  this  chapel  is," 
said  Zeno.  "  How  tranquil — and  see  that  sign 
of  peace  and  forgiveness,"  pointing  to  the 
cross  which  surmounted  the  other  end,  where 


the  entrance  lay.  "And  yet  fiorn  out  this 
belfry  have  we  these  treacherous  shafts.  So 
often  do  some  holy  folks  stir  up  war!  As 
these  busy  priests  will  not  let  us  rest,  let  us 
even  begin  our  work." 

The  line  of  warriors  crossing  the  bridge  had 
now  drawn  its  hindmost  end  on  to  the  land  : 
there  were  no  more  to  come.  Those  who  had 
reached  the  shore  had  hastily  formed  them- 
selves, first  into  one  band,  which  stood  rather 
to  the  right  of  the  bridge,  and  now  into  ano- 
ther on  the  left ;  and  both  slowly  came  for- 
ward. Zeno  stepped  as  he  spoke  towards  the 
troop  of  English  soldiers  that  stood  in  the  van. 
Another  little  flight  of  arrows  whistled  along 
as  he  passed  beyond  the  shelter  of  the  chapel ; 
but  they  all  fell  wide,  and  Edward,  who  fol> 
lowed  him  with  Sebastian,  pointed  to  the  for- 
tune which  seemed  to  bear  the  Zeno  harmless. 

Raising  his  loud  voice,  that  had  so  often  made 
itself  heard  against  the  wind,  Zeno  spake  so 
that  it  might  reach  beyond  the  English  to  his 
own  countrymen,  and  hastily  addressed  them 
in  one  of  those  short  and  animated  speeches 
with  which  he  was  wont  to  begin  the  combat. 

"  We  have  buckled  on  our  armor  this  day, 
my  soldiers,"  he  cried,  "  with  good  omens. 
The  sun  that  shines  upon  us  will  dazzle  the 
eyes  of  those  we  fight ;  and  you  see  how  God 
is  leading  them,  little  by  little,  across  that 
bridge,  that  it  may  be  easier  for  us  to  find  them 
than  if  they  were  on  the  farther  shore.  Truly 
God  stands  against  wicked  and  unjust  enter- 
prizes,  and  blinds  the  eyes  of  those  who  pur- 
sue them.  See  how  they  come  on,  judging 
our  prudence  with  a  corrupt  judgment,  taking 
it  for  very  fear :  through  their  error  and  your 
wisdom  shall  our  glory  be  begotten.  Stand 
quiet  yet  a  little,  and  silent — But  'A"hen  the 
time  shall  come,  and  I  give  you  the  accus- 
tomed sign,  then  crying  out,  and  with  a  good 
will,  we  will  run  upon  them  and  drive  them 
back,  broken  and  disordered,  against  the  walls 
which  they  cannot  re-enter.  This  day  shall 
bring  destruction  to  the  daring  of  our  foes,  and 
this  miserable  war  shall  have  a  happy  end. 
For  all  human  things  have  the  same  course ; 
nor  was  there  ever  so  troubled  and  perilous  a 
tempest  that  had  not  behind  it  a  serene  calm." 

He  ceased,  and  turning  towards  the  foe,  he 
watched  the  distance  as  it  diminished  between 
them. 

"They  have  one  advantage  over  us,"  he  said, 
speaking  low  to  his  companions — "  for  if  they 
have  few  horses,  we  have  none.  And  yet 
methinks  they  seem  to  gain  but  little  confi- 
dence from  that ;  for  as  they  come  near,  and 
see  our  numbers  greater  than  they  showed  at 
first,  note  how  they  seem  to  stop  and  doubt. 
Gerardo  de  Manteloro — that  is  he  on  the  black 
horse — is  not  often  so  slow  in  coming  to  bat- 
tle ;  for  never  was  there  a  braver  man,  as 
there  is  not  a  discreeter.  These  holy  bowmen 
at  our  right  will  not  let  us  forget  them.  I 
must  not  have  them  left  here  to  make  a  panic 
t)chind  us.  Be  it  your  task,  Sebastian,  to  drive 
them  out  as  soon  as  we  move  forward." 

After  a  short  pause  of  silence,  Zeno  suddenly 
turned  to  the  men  behind  him,  and  crying 
"  Evviva  San  Marco,"  was  answered  by  a  loud 
and  deafening  shout :  as  the  Englishmen  rushed 
forward  at  his  back,  a  roaring  flight  of  arrows 


94 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


flew  from  the  bows  of  the  Venetians  behind 
them. 

The  Genoese  did  not  wait  the  shook  in 
silence,  but  answering  to  the  shout,  rushed 
forward  to  encounter  it.  More  than  halfway 
did  the  invaders  meet  them,  and  with  such 
force  did  they  rush  together,  that  many  in 
front  could  not  use  their  arms,  but  were  driven 
body  to  body,  or  were  hemmed  in  among  their 
enemies.  Followed  close  by  Edward,  Carlo 
Zeno  might  be  known  by  his  red  cap,  piercing 
far  and  dt-sp  among  the  Genoese  ;  and  in  a 
few  moments,  around  him  was  the  thickest  of 
the  fight, 

Gerardo  da  Manteloro,  pointing  to  Zeno  with 
his  sword,  called  out  to  him  by  name,  and 
cried  to  his  men  to  seize  and  bind  him.  But 
even  his  own  horse  could  not  bring  him  near 
to  the  coveted  prisoner;  for  so  fast  did  Zeno 
push  forward,  and  so  close  was  the  press  of 
men,  that  Gerardo's  sword  could  not  make 
way. 

The  shout  of  defiance  had  died  away,  and  in 
its  place  was  heard  the  jangling  of  the  mail,  as 
those  who  wore  it  struggled  in  a  close  embrace  ; 
the  hacking  of  swords  upon  the  steel  ;  the 
deeper  shouts  of  execration  or  of  agony  ;  and 
for  a  short  space  the  combat  seemed  to  waver 
in  one  fierce  convulsive  struggle  on  the  spot 
where  they  first  met. 

But  the  Genoese  had  been  deceived  :  the 
numberof  the  Venetians  was  greater  than  they 
had  counted  from  the  bridge  ;  and  the  fierce 
onset  of  the  Englishmen,  headed  by  Zeno, 
which  seemed  to  drive  the  small  band  through 
rank  after  rank,  as  if  each  were  no  stronger 
than  water,  made  the  Genoese  behind  be- 
lieve their  strength  still  greater  than  it  was. 
The  soldiers  remaining  on  the  bridge  had 
stopped — those  who  had  put  their  foot  on  the 
land  began  to  think  it  safer  to  return,  and  in 
pursuing  Zeno  in  his  fierce  career  towards  the 
bridge,  Gerardo  himself  had  hurried  his  men 
backward  in  what  many  took  for  a  flight. 
Turning  his  horse  a  little  from  without  the 
press,  he  galloped  back  to  the  bridge,  and  strove 
to  stay  those  who  fled,  now  with  entreaties, 
now  with  reproaches,  and,  at  times,  even  with 
his  sword.  But  the  madness  of  fear  was  on 
his  men,  and  rather  than  face  the  danger  that 
might  be  quelled,  they  thought  of  nothing  mope 
than  to  reach  the  bridge  alive. 

Terrible  was  the  slaughter  made  by  the  Eng- 
lishmen, who  hacked  the  fugitives  as  they  ran, 
carvmg  them  behind,  and  strewing  the  whole 
path  to  the  bridge  with  bodies.  As  they  re- 
gained it,  the  very  crowding  and  crush  made 
them  stand.  And  those  on  the  wall,  seeing 
the  danger,  helped  their  friends  as  they  might ; 
turning  upon  the  Venetians  the  thunder  of  man- 
ganels  and  bombards,  from  which  great  round 
stones  were  hurled  with  such  force  that  armor 
even  could  not  resist ;  and  many  went  then  to 
their  last  account.  Some  of  the  heavy  mis- 
siles, falling  short,  fell  among  the  Genoese 
themselves,  and  helped  the  sword  of  Venice. 

Seeing  that  strange  aid,  the  Venetians  gained 
new  strength,  and  still  pushed  on  for  the  bridge. 

Now  was  the  day  of  vengeance  for  that  time 
when  the  Genoese  fought  their  way  into  Chi- 
<zza  by  the  same  road  ;  now  the  Genoese,  as 
l.ie  Venetians   did   then,    fled   before   greater 


numbers  ;  but  they  turned  more  in  coward  fear, 
and  abandoned  themselves  more  to  agony  and 
distraction.  When  Zeno  reached  the  bridge, 
the  press  upon  it  was  so  close  that  scarce  liis 
sword  could  pierce  its  way ;  and  still  there 
were  Genoese  behind  him  too  bewildered  to 
strike,  and  striving  for  nought  but  to  scramble 
past,  in  the  vain  hope  of  reaching  the  city. 

"Push  forward,  push  forward,"  cried  .Zeno 
to  Edward  ;  "  let  us  enter  with  them." 

Seizing  the  advantage  of  the  press,  Gerardo 
now  endeavored  to  make  some  stand  against 
those  who  had  so  surprised  him.  His  horse 
had  fallen  over  the  entangled  bodies,  and  he 
was  on  foot.  His  courage  and  his  sword  would 
have  forced  a  path  forward,  but  that  his  own 
men  drove  him  back ;  nay,  sometimes  almost 
lifted  him  off  his  feet.  Near  him  was  a  young 
cavalier,  who  now  aided  him  with  his  sword, 
and  at  times  upheld  him  when  he  would  havs 
fallen.  Seeing  that  this  man  a  little  stopped 
the  forward  course  of  his  countrymen,  Edward 
made  towards  him,  and  calling  out,  that  he 
might  not  take  him  unawares,  struck  him  with 
all  his  force  upon  the  head.  The  blow  made 
the  knight  reel  and  stagger,  but,  turning  round, 
he  repaid  it  with  profit  to  him  that  dealt  it.  As 
he  struck,  Edward  knew  his  face — it  was 
young  Francesco  Carrara ;  and  though  his 
sword  was  raised  again  to  strike,  the  English- 
man, remembering  where  he  last  had  seen  him, 
lost  heart  to  do  so.  Not  so  Turnbull,  whose 
weighty  form  had  borne  him  among  the  fore- 
most. His  sword  had  broken  short  off"  on  the 
back  of  some  flying  Genoese,  but  rushing  to 
the  cavalier,  who  had  so  rudely  assaulted  his 
slighter  friend,  he  struck  him  with  a  blow  that 
might  have  opened  a  city  gate,  full  upon  the 
chest. 

The  youth's  mail  seemed  to  shrink  and  crum- 
ple under  the  blow  like  silk,  and  his  face  which 
was  red  with  heat  and  the  violence  of  his  toil, 
turned  ashy  pale.  He  did  not  fall,  for  the  press 
around  him  was  so  close  ;  but  he  seemed  about 
to  sink  on  his  trembling  knees,  when  Edward, 
seizing  him  by  the  arm,  raised  him  up,  and 
cried, 

"  Push  forward,  sir,  to  the  city  while  you 
may  ;  for  there  is  no  victory  to  be  gained  here, 
and  you  have  done  more  than  your  due  already." 

Turning  to  look  where  his  general  was,  young 
Carrara  saw  that  Gerardo  had  now  given  up 
the  contest,  and  was  yielding,  though  slowly, 
to  the  backward  pressure.  Both  sides  had 
nearly  ceased  to  fight,  and  the  striving  to  rush 
forward  had  become  more  like  the  struggle  to 
enter  a  church  on  some  festival  than  the  storm 
of  a  city. 

The  wooden  bridge  creaked  and  shook  under 
the  moving  weight.  The  Venetians  halted  ; 
some  sudden  thought  checking  their  footsteps 
— the  bridge  groaned  and  labored  like  the  mast 
of  a  ship  in  a  storm,  but  a  hundred  fold  louder 
—  suddenly  there  was  a  sharp  crack  —  then  a 
shrieking  tear — and  Zeno  and  Edward  stood 
pressing  backwards  with  their  feet  at  the  edge 
of  a  precipice,  while  the  broken  drawbridge  fell 
suddenly  down,  and  poured  forth  the  living 
mass  upon  it  into  the  canal  below.  For  an  in- 
stant Gerardo,,  who  had  almost  passed  the 
weaker  part  of  the  bridge  before  it  broke,  might 
be  seen  to  cling  to  the  splintered  end  of  a  beam 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


95 


partly  it  gave  way  in  his  grasp — partly  his 
hasty  hold  yielded  to  the  weight  of  his  falling 
body  ;  and  he  too  was  seen  struggling  beneath. 
But  the  fight  for  life  now  became  how  to  resist 
the  pressure  of  the  mingled  fugitives  and 
pursuers  behind,  who  knew  not  wliat  had  hap- 
pened. Those  in  front  turned  round  and  cried 
out  to  all  behind  them,  friend  or  foe,  to  keep 
back;  but  they  understood  not,  and  already 
many  Venetians  and  Genoese  had  been  thrust 
forward  into  the  splash  and  scramble  below. 

With  a  sudden  thought  Edward  seized  in 
his  arms  the  man  on  whom  the  hopes  of  Ve- 
nice rested  ;  motioning  to  Turnbull,  he  made 
the  ponderous  Englishman  also  clasp  him  ; 
and  thrusting  their  feet  firmly  forward,  the 
two  threw  themselves  back  against  the  living 
stream  that  rushed  to  the  brink  of  the  broken 
bridge.  Never  had  Edward  endured  so  fierce 
a  struggle.  The  group  swayed  from  side  to 
side,  like  the  bow  of  a  ship  that  meets  a  beat- 
ing sea.  Little  by  little  he  could  feel  his  feet 
move  forward,  where  but  a  few  inches  of 
ground  remained  before  them. 

But  gradually  the  pressure  lessened ;  the 
flying  Genoese  and  the  pursuing  Venetians 
began  to  know  the  doom  that  had  cut  off  the 
path  to  Chiozza,  shutting  these  out  from  vic- 
tory, the  others  from  safety. 

Forgetting  their  strife,  the  late  foes  might 
be  seen  leaning  together  over  the  rail,  and 
watching  with  fearful  earnestness  the  struggle 
of  the  armed  men  in  the  water.  With  most 
it  was  short,  for  the  weight  of  their  arms  soon 
dragged  them  under  the  surface.  Some  few, 
however,  had  fallen  with  the  broken  fragments 
of  the  bridge,  or  had  seized  them  in  the  water. 
Among  these  was  the  unfortunate  general  of 
the  fugitives  ;  and  when  the  struggle  for  his 
own  life  had  subsided,  Zeno  called  to  his  fol- 
lowers that  they  should  save  the  illustrious 
Genoese,  offering  them  large  rewards.  Some 
few  hastily  joined  their  sword-belts,  and  threw 
one  end  towards  the  general ;  but  another 
seized  it,  and  he  himself  was  dizzy  and  faint 
with  his  fall.  The  beam  that  lay  beneath  his 
arm  rolled  over  with  the  struggles  of  those 
near  him,  his  head  went  backwards,  and  pre- 
sently nothing  was  seen  but  the  splash  of  the 
water  where  the  cavalier  had  sunk. 

Scared  by  that  misadventure,  the  fugitives 
and  the  pursuers  watched  each  other  in  list- 
less curiosity.  Even  the  Genoese  who  re- 
mained behind,  and  who  now  made  their  best 
speed  towards  Brondolo,  were  but  little  mo- 
lested by  those  who  had  so  hated  them.  For 
the  dreadful  doom  which  had  struck  so  many 
seemed  like  the  hand  of  heaven  :  pity  and  awe 
withheld  the  hand  of  mortal.  Recalling  his 
men,  Zeno  withdrew  towards  the  chapel,  point- 
ing as  he  passed  to  the  heaps  of  slain,  whose 
mangled  features  showed  how  bloody  had  been 
the  victory  of  the  Venetians.  No  arrows  as- 
sailed them  from  the  little  belfry,  but  near  it 
stood  Sebastian,  with  a  small  band  of  four  Ge- 
noese prisoners,  bound.  Pointing  to  them,  he 
said — 

"  There  are  our  captives  ;  there  are  fourteen 
dead  bodies  within  the  belfry,  and  twice  as 
nricny  more  Venetians  lie  around  it." 

"  Your  triumph,''  said  Zeno,  as  he  laid  his 
hand  on  Sebastian's  shoulder,  "has  been  dearer 


bought  than  ours  ;  but  it  is  more  soldierly—  for 
chance  and  some  few  rotten  timbers  hi've 
marred  the  work  we  could  not  complete.  If 
Pisani  has  done  as  well  at  Brondolo  as  we  have 
here,  Venice  has  now  regained  the  shores  of 
the  Adriatic  ;  and  the  Genoese  hold  Chiozza 
not  as  a  fortress,  but  as  a  cage.  Still  must  I 
leave  you  here,  Sebastian,  with  enough  force 
to  guard  the  ground  we  have  gained,  while  I 
hasten  on  to  Brondolo,  to  speed  Pisani's  cer- 
tain victory  ;  for  never  has  he  truly  belied  his 
name  of  Victor." 

And  so,  without  resting,  Zeno,  taking  with 
him  Edward,  and  such  of  his  troops  as  he 
judged  to  be  most  fresh,  moved  southwards  for 
the  town.  He  had  not  seen  it  since  he  left 
Venice,  and  now  he  mournfully  thought  that 
he  was  in  some  strange  place,  so  altered  was 
every  part.  They  came  to  where  once  stood  the 
monastery  of  Cistercian  nuns,  and  there  stood 
a  ruin,  deserted  even  by  the  rude  soldiery  that 
had  converted  it  into  a  dwelling  and  fort. 
Still  going  on,  they  came  to  where  the  town 
should  have  begun  ;  but  low  walls,  some  of  the 
earliest  raised  to  close  in  the  camp  of  the  Ge- 
noese, replaced  the  houses  of  the  ancient  town 
— more  ancient  than  Venice  itself.  Here  saw 
they  a  tumult  in  front,  but  it  was  no  battle. 
The  fight  was  over ;  the  town  was  retaken, 
and  a  host  of  prisoners  remained,  while  ano- 
ther host  had  fled  as  they  might  to  the  main 
land. 

As  they  drew  nigh,  something  seemed  to  fix 
the  random  movements  of  the  Venetian  strag- 
glers who  had  staid  outside  the  streets ;  and 
then  a  little  band,  slowly  moving  marched  from 
among  them.,  bearing  what  looked  like  a  litter. 
Zeno's  party  still  went  forward,  and  presently 
they  knew  that  the  soldiers  had  hastily  made  a 
litter  of  their  spears,  covered  with  cloaks  and 
such  softer  things  as  they  could  find  :  on  it  lay 
a  wounded  man  ;  his  robe  like  Zeno's  was  red  ; 
it  was  Pisani  ! 

"How  is  this,  my  friend  and  brother  1"  cried 
Zeno,  as  he  took  his  hand  ;    "  are  you  hurt  !" 

"  To  the  death,  Zeno  ;  but  I  have  gained  one 
more  victory  before  I  die,  to  show  that  I  v/as 
worth  letting  out  of  prison.  Set  me  down,  my 
children.  I  see  that  you  have  conquered,  for 
you  are  here.     Is  Chiozza  taken  !" 

"  It  is  not ;  for  the  way  to  it  is  cut  off  by  the 
breaking  of  the  bridge,  of  which  many  died ; 
and  the  Genoese  are  locked  up  in  tlie  trap  they 
h^ve  made  for  themselves.  But  your  color 
goes  !    Where  is  your  surgeon  1" 

"  There  is  none  here  ;  nor  does  it  need :  it  is 
too  late.  I  did  but  long  to  see  you,  and  to 
let  you  see  me  under  the  sun  of  victory,  that 
hereafter  you  might  remember  me  as  one  who 
did  well  for  Venice.  We  have  caged  the  foe, 
and  you  will  drive  him  out  without  me.  Em- 
brace me,  Zeno." 

Zeno  took  his  friend  in  his  arms,  and  stooped 
over  him.  So  lay  the  wounded  man  for  a 
while,  locked  in  that  embrace.  \Mien  Zeno 
rose,  his  face  was  wet  with  tears ;  and  then 
the  sad  soldiers  who  stood  around,  saw  that 
Vittor  Pisani  was  dead. 


90 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

The  shouts  of  the  victory  had  died  away  in 
Pelestrina,  and  the  day  was  drawing  to  a  close, 
when  Recanati,  so  long  absent,  entered  Sebas- 
tian's tent.  His  pale  cheek  was  flushed  with  a 
red  spot,  his  silken  eyebrows  were  drawn  into 
a  frown,  and  his  delicate  features  were  pinched 
together  with  the  resolve  of  a  man  who  is 
spited  by  fortune,  and  has  made  up  his  mind  to 
some  last  resort. 

"  You  know  for  what  I  am  come,"  he  said. 

"  I  do  forget,"  answered  Ranieri ;  "  you 
must  tell  me  anew." 

"  Have  you  repented  of  your  promise — of 
your  wish  to  go  with  me  to  Chiozza  ;  for  time 
presses  more  than  we  thought  1  Or  will  you 
give  us  Sebastian  without  that  idle  ceremo- 
ny." 

"I  have  never  yet  repented  of  anything.  It 
will  be  time  to  repent,  when  one  can  learn  to 
undo  what  is  done.     I  am  ready." 

Recaiiati  turned  and  left  the  the  tent,  fol- 
lowed by  the  youth  who  would  not  arm ;  well 
aware  that  arms  would  in  no  way  lessen  his 
risk,  though  their  absence,  by  seeming  to  show 
greater  daring,  did  lessen  it.  When  they  had 
reached  the  condottiere's  tent,  Recanati  enter- 
ed it  alone.  Presently  he  returned,  and  beck- 
oning to  the  other  they  again  took  their  way, 
loined  by  two  mure  cavaliers,  who  followed 
them  in  silence. 

"Who  are  these?'  asked  Ranieri. 

"  They  are  men  who  bear  us  company  on  an 
errand  like  our  own,  and,"  he  added  in  a  se- 
vere tone,  '•  they  know  you,  Messer  Ranieri, 
and  will  know  you  hereafter." 

"  Be  it  60." 

Proceedmg  to  the  water's  edge,  they  entered 
a  small  boat,  in  which  they  were  rowed  si- 
lently, but  steadily  and  swiftly  towards  the 
Genoese.  When  they  had  come  under  the 
town  they  turned  to  the  right,  and  went  slowly 
along  until  they  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  the 
canal  that  divides  the  island.  Whispered  chal- 
lenges were  given  and  answered  as  they  passed 
between  the  galleys  stationed  there,  and  float- 
ed within  the  barrier  at  the  entrance.  They 
landed  and  as  tliey  proceeded  through  the  dark 
streets  Ranieri  was  aware  that  scanty  troops 
.')f  soldiers  loitered  about  rather  with  the  air  of 
men  in  idleness,  than  of  those  kept  to  guard  a 
town  invested  by  the  enemy.  Occasionally  a 
torch  borne  by  one  or  other  of  them  showed 
him  gaunt  forms,  and  the  vacant  sulky  lan- 
guor of  men  whose  spirits  had  been  wearied 
out. 

They  entered  the  same  house,  and  the  same 
hall  in  which  we  saw  Pietro  Emo  the  night  be- 
fore Cararra  had  galloped  into  the  place. 

Where  Emo  had  stood  consulting  how  to 
repulse  the  Genoese,  there  stood  Carrara  tak- 
ing counsel  how  to  to  repulse  the  Venetians. 

In  his  condition  he  had  much  altered  since 
he  sat  with  AU'ssandro  listening  to  the  con- 
versation of  Marco  Morosini  with  the  monk. 
His  frame  had  grown  more  rneagre  and  the 
watchful  look  of  his  face,  its  hardened  lines, 
and  more  angry  eye,  explained  the  wasting  of 
his  frame,  which  .still  was  square  and  muscular. 
The  color  of  his  cheek  seemed  more  settled 
on  the  surfa"^*^  and  his  hair,  grown  grayer,  no 


longer  set  ofT  his  face  to  so  much  advantage 
Yet  was  there  the  same  bold  and  dauntless  ex- 
pression, and  the  same  ready  smile,  though  a 
trifle  bitterer,  as  he  listened  to  the  companion 
beside  him. 

This  was  Doria,  whose  grave  and  dignified 
face  had  grown  more  solemn  ;  and  he,  unlike 
(>arrara,  seemed  to  bear  rather  than  to  brave 
the  difficulties  that  overwhelmed  them.  And 
in  truth  he  had  more  at  stake.  The  Genoese 
cooped  up  in  Chiozza  could  barely  hope  to  es- 
cape even  with  life  and  limb,  while  the  Paduan 
had  gradually  managed  to  withdraw  the  greater 
number  of  his  forces;  and  he  himself,  cunning, 
active  and  fertile  in  resources,  had  no  fear  of 
escaping  from  the  trap  into  which  he  had  ven- 
tured. The  worst  to  him  was  that  his  game 
went  against  him.  Doria  was  anxious  for  his 
life-  his  fame,  and  the  existence  of  the  thous- 
ands that  depended  upon  him.  There  was  in 
the  grave  anxiety  of  his  look  a  rebuke  to  the 
more  careless  manner  of  the  unscrupulous  Car 
rara. 

As  an  attendant  ushered  in  the  small  party 
that  interrupted  them,  Carrara  rose  and  came 
towards  the  strangers  as  though  he  expected 
them  ;  but  looking  beyond  the  condottiere,  his 
manner  showed  that  he  was  surprised  at  see- 
ing him  accompanied  by  others  of  his  own  con- 
dition, whom  at  first  he  had  taken  for  servants. 
Recanati  took  him  familiarly  by  the  arm,  and 
leading  him  apart  from  his  companions,  spoke 
to  him  for  a  few  minutes  with  earnestness  and 
rapidity. 

Ranieri  watched  them  for  a  little  time ;  but 
it  was  not  at  all  his  pupose  in  venturing  so  far 
to  suffer  the  soldier  to  conceal  his  projects. 
Once  or  twice  he  moved  with  the  intention  of 
stepping  forward  and  interrupting  their  conver- 
versalion,  but  he  chose  a  discreeter  course. 
Turning  to  one  of  those  who  had  come  with 
him,  whom  he  had  not  yet  adressed,  he  said 
with  a  sneer, 

"  It  seems  that  Messer  da  Recanati  has  not 
quite  admitted  us  to  his  counsels.  It  may  be 
dangerous  to  us  to  buy  what  we  do  but  halt 
see.  The  sack  may  contain  a  serpent  to  bite 
us  if  we  see  not  to  the  bottom." 

"  True,"  answered  the  other,  "  I  was  just 
going  to  think  as  much,"  and  he  stepped  to- 
wards Carrara  and  the  condottiere,  crying, 
"  Pardon  me,  Messer  da  Recanati,  but  those 
who  share  the  risk  must  share  the  council." 

"  True,  true,"  said  Recanati,  "  I  had  thought 
that  you  would  follow  me,  but — "  He  stopped 
on  seeing  that  Ranieri  had  not  remained  be- 
hind, and  that  the  third  of  his  companions  had 
also  pressed  close  upon  him.  "  These,  then, 
uiy  lord,"  he  said  to  Carrara,  "  are  the  gentle- 
men of  whom  I  spoke  ;  Messer  da  Piovere  you 
already  know  ;  and  this  time  I  hope  he  will  be 
more  discreet.  This  is  Messer  Buzzacheri- 
no." 

"  And  who,"  asked  Carrara,  "  is  this  young 
gentleman]  This  is  not  Messer  Sebastiano 
Morosini." 

i  "  It  is,  and  it  is  not :  it  is  a  hostage  for  Mes- 
ser Sebastiano ;  one  who  has  all  his  power, 
and  will  convey  to  us  even  to  help  our  suc- 
cess. But  Messer  Sebastiano  will  not  trust 
himself  with  us  until  hf  sees  belter  into  oui 
chance." 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


r? 


"Why  this,"  cried  Carrara,  drawing  angrily- 
back,  "  is  not  the  way,  Recanati,  in  wiiich  you 
were  wont  to  make  your  compacts.  It  is  the 
compact  which  the  old  thief  made  with  the 
young  one ;  to  share  the  booty  if  the  boy  got. 
away  with  it,  but  to  inform  against  him  if  he 
were  caught." 

"Those  are  strict  in  their  compacts,  my 
lord,  who  have  the  power  to  be  so.  We  must 
take  what  we  can  get,  and  we  have  too  Messer 
Sebastiano's  hostage." 

"  Aye,  a  hostage  ;  but  say  that  Messer  Se- 
bastiano  forfeits  it,  what  were  his  lossl" 

"  This  young  gentleman  has  a  life  as  sweet 
to  him  as  his  master's,  an(i  I  think  that  he  will 
not  risk  it ;  therefore  it  is  for  him  to  see  that 
Messer  Sebastiano  fulfil  his  part.  The  young 
man  knows  that  he  lives  only  while  he  is  true  to 
us." 

"  Aye,  and  as  for  that,"  said  Ranieri,  putting 
on  a  little  more  audacity  than  he  felt,  "  you, 
too,  have  kept  in  the  dark  as  well  as  Sebastiano. 
I  have  only  half  yet  made  our  bargain,  Mes- 
ser Condottiere,  nor  shall  I  close  it  till  I  know 
better  what  it  is  you  mean  to  do.  You  tell 
me  that  you  have  Messer  Carrara's  word  ;  but 
I  have  not  yet  heard  it  from  him.  You  tell 
me  that  you  have  projects  ;  but  I  know  them 
not  :  and  truly  shall  you  not  have  Sebastian's 
men  or  Sebastian's  aid,  until  I  can  say  for  what 
purpose  it  shall  be  given,  and  what  is  the  gain. 
You  have  me  here,  Messer  Condottiere  ;  and 
this  powerful  gentleman,  whom  I  take  to  be 
the  Lord  of  Padua,  can  dispose  of  me  as  he 
pleases.  Let  me  never  return  to  Pelestrina,  if 
you  will — you,  who  have  gone  so  far  in  the  con- 
tract, stop  it  if  you  list.  I  shall  not  be  missed  ; 
or,  if  I  am,  no  one  will  lay  my  life  at  your  ac- 
count. But  if  it  be  that  you  desire  to  have  me 
help  you,  I  say  I  must  know  in  what  I  give  it, 
and  what  I  give  it  for." 

"  A  bold  youngster,"  cried  Carrara,  with  a 
smile  ;  "  and  Carrara  tells  you,  boy,  that  no 
triumph  in  this  world  was  ever  gained  but  that 
which  may  be  won  by  daring  and  by  cunning. 
Each  apart  may  make  a  man  a  reajy  tool  for 
others'  uses  ;  but  to  make  him  a  master,  both 
must  be  joined.  Now  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is 
we  need,  and  therein  lies  my  boldness  ;  cun- 
ning I  have  no  need  for.  There  is  but  one  risk, 
l)ut  one  discovery  to  be  made,  and  all  rests  up- 
on our  boldness.  We  do  desire,  having  lost 
great  part  of  our  force,  to  buy  over  to  our  own 
use  what  we  can  of  the  Venetian  forces.  We 
nave  already  the  company  of  Messer  Recanati ; 
Messer  da  Piovere  has  come  to  give  us  his,  and 
there  are  more  that  may  be  purchased.  We 
have  already  in  Venice  those  who,  if  we  ap- 
proach it  in  power,  will  yield  to  us  the  rule  of 
the  city  ;  but  truly  should  we  be  well  plea.sed  to 
have  more  of  those  whom  the  people  themselves 
would  favor — those  who  are  loved  in  the  streets 
and  in  the  lagoon,  as  well  as  those  who  are 
cunning  in  council.  Therefore  is  it,  Messer 
Giovane.  that  we  would  buy  the  good  will  of 
your  friend  ;  for  as  I  hear  there  is  none  other 
so  young  that  is  so  well  beloved  in  Venice. 
That  is  what  we  want.  And  now  for  the  price. 
It  is  Venice.  Those  who  join  in  this  our  great 
enterprise  shall  share  Venice  among  ihcm — its 
wealth  amongst  us  all.  leaders  and  men  ;  its 
rule  to  those  who  bring  us  power,  whereof  Mes- 
N 


ser  Sebastiano  shall  have  large  part.  To  make 
this  compact,  Messer  Roberto  da  Recanati  has 
full  power.  He  is  the  leader  of  that  Venetian 
army  which  will  pass  over  to  me  so  soon  as  we 
know  all  whom  we  can  gain.  In  him  may  you 
trust  as  to  myself  And  now,  sir,  I  have  told  you 
all ;  what  gage  have  we  that  you  are  faithful"!" 
"  None  but  that  which  Messer  da  Recanati 
told  you  of  just  now,  my  life.  I  think,  as  I 
have  told  him  before,  that  the  risk  is  all  with  us; 
for  you,  it  seems,  have  lost  everything  already  ; 
whereas  with  us  our  losses  are  to  begin." 
"  Be  it  so." 

Recanati  once  more  attempted  to  draw  Car- 
rara aside  ;  but  Ranieri  laying  his  hand  upon 
his  arm,  said — 

"  If  we  are  to  be  true  to  each  other,  there 
must  be  open  councils  for  all." 

"Nay,  nay,"  replied  the  condottiere,  "I  do 
but  wish  to  ask  Messer  Carrara's  pleasure,  and 
anon  you  shall  hear  it.  You  are  a  young  coun- 
cillor, Messer  Ranieri,  and  too  sharp." 

When  the  two  had  conversed  for  a  few  min- 
utes, the  Lord  of  Padua  beckoned  to  Ranieri, 
and  said  to  him — 

"  Now,  this  shall  be  your  first  task  :  it  is 
necessary  to  our  enterprise  that  on  some  pre- 
tence the  whole  of  our  friends  should  be  called 
out  before  the  rest  of  the  army  in  Brondolo,  if 
it  may  be.  Think  you  that  you  could  so  con- 
trive, when  the  time  comes,  that  some  one  who 
has  the  power  should  give  such  order  that  it 
might  be  done  without  any  show  of  activity 
amongst  yourselves  1" 

Ranieri  thought  for  a  moment.  How  to  do 
it  he  did  not  attempt  to  consider.  The  use  that 
it  might  be  put  to,  was  scarcely  more  distinct 
to  him.  Chiefly  he  thought  what  would  be  the 
best  answer  for  him  to  make  before  those  with 
whom  he  spoke,  and  in  a  firm  and  confident  but 
quiet  voice  he  answered — 
"  It  shall  be  done." 

"  Enough,"  answered  Carrara.  "  You  have 
gained  that  for  which  you  have  visited  us  in 
our  poor  lodging,  Messer  Giovane.  We  have 
learnt  that  which  Messer  da  Recanati  came  to 
tell  us,  and  we  need  keep  you  no  longer.  But," 
said  Carrara  with  a  smile,  "  a  gentleman  of  your 
condition  must  needs  lack  service,  and  foryour 
sake  I  have  asked  Messer  da  Recanati  to  spare 
two  of  his  most  comely,  discreet,  and  bold  men 
to  be  your  attendants.  They  will  help  you  in 
keeping  true  to  you  trust,  Messer  Giovane  ;  so 
you  may  thank  me  for  this  generous  act  of  Mes- 
ser da  Recanati's." 

"  I  will  thank  you,  my  lord,  some  few  days 
hence  when  you  shall  ask  Messer  Sebastiano 
to  confer  upon  me  that  office  in  Venice  which 
I  shall  then  have  earned." 
"  In  three  days,  or  never." 
Leaving  the  presence  of  Carrara,  da  Recan- 
ati and  his  companions  took  their  leave  ;  and 
having  re-entered  their  boat,  regained  Peles- 
trina in  early  morn,  without  observation. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Ranieri  liad  not  long  returned  to  Sebastian's 
tent,  when  two  men  entered  to  him  ;  and  one 
of  them,  a  sleek  ami  decent  serving  man,  not 


98 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


much  older  than  himself,  taking  off  his  cap, 
approached  with  a  low  obeisance. 

The  man's  manner  was  humble  and  respect- 
ful, and  yet  there  lurked  in  his  cunning  eye 
and  slightly  compressed  lips  a  smile  of  insolent 
daring. 

"  We  have  been  told,  my  lord,"  he  said, 
"  that  you  need  more  servants,  and  that  you 
will  take  us  for  your  attendants." 

"Who  sent  youV  asked  Ranieri. 

"  Messer  Roberto  da  Recanati." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  him  for  the  courtesy,  and 
what  wages  am  I  to  give  you  V 

"  Messer  Roberto,  my  lord,  is  too  desirous 
for  you  to  be  served  well,  to  trouble  you  to  pay 
us ;  but  we  are  to  have,  elsewhere,  double  the 
wages  that  you  may  choose  to  name." 

"  Why,  then,  I  can  give  you  generous  pay, 
and  yet  be  none  the  poorer.  Who  is  your 
friend  here  ;  will  he  take  equal  wages  with 
yourself!" 

"  Battista  is  an  honest  man,  my  lord ;  but 
will  scarcely  ask  so  much,  my  lord,  as  I  al- 
ways have." 

"  Why  then,  sir,  say  that  my  wages  to  you 
shall  be  a  bowman's  pay,  eight  ducats  a  month  ; 
and  your  friend's,  a  rower's,  the  half  of  that. 
And  you  say  that  you  will  have  double ;  will 
that  satisfy  youl" 

"  AVe  shall  be  satisfied,  my  lord,  with  what- 
ever you  choose  to  vouchsafe  ;  and  I  will  say 
to  you  that  never  will  you  have  closer  atten- 
dants than  we  shall  prove." 

"  I  think  that  I  shall  never  have  been  so  well 
attended,  for  look — you  see  how  I  have  thrown 
my  clothes  here  all  in  confusion :  you  shall 
enter  upon  your  duties  at  once,  and  set  them 
all  in  order  for  me." 

The  man  bowed  obsequiously,  and  entered 
upon  his  new  task  as  if  he  had  already  for  years 
been  the  young  gentleman's  servant. 

Ranieri  was  puzzled  how  to  deal  with  his 
new  attendants.  He  felt  no  great  fear,  though 
he  saw  by  the  mati's  manner  and  the  blunt 
daring  that  appeared  in  the  deportment  of  the 
other,  that  there  were  set  upon  him  spies  who 
would  stop  at  no  extremity ;  yet  embarked  as 
he  was  in  an  enterprise  that  promised  more 
honor  even  than  danger,  he  was  prepared  to 
run  the  risk  with  the  same  temper  that  men 
brave  the  rocks  and  storms  of  the  Adriatic, 
and  busied  himself  ratlier  to  think  how  he  might 
out-manffiuvre  even  the  great  Carrara,  and  his 
tool  Recanati,  than  how  he  might  avoid  the 
peril  to  his  own  person.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  could  even  turn  this  watch  set  upon 
him  to  advantage,  and  that  if  he  could  deceive 
these  spies,  who  were  naturally  less  cunning 
than  their  masters,  he  might  through  them 
more  readily  deceive  the  masters' themselves. 
Carrara  should  have  had  only  Carraras  for  his 
spies,  and  then  he  might  have  trapped  Venice 
at  his  will. 

His  first  task  was  to  confer  with  Sebastian, 
both  that  he  might  seem  to  be  carrying  on  the 
plot  into  which  he  had  entered  with  Recanati, 
and  that  he  might  pos.sess  his  friend  of  the 
actual  state  of  matters.  He  made  no  attempt 
to  evade  his  attendant  spies,  but  now  he  turned 
to  account  the  art  which  his  sister  had  taught 
him,  of  writing.  While  the  men  were  busied 
about  ths  tent,  he  wrote  a  short  story  of  what 


he  would  tell  to  his  friend,  and  seeming  to  put 
it  away,  he  hid  it  in  his  sleeve  ;  the  soldiers 
httle  heeding  that  clerkly  employ. 

He  set  forth  in  early  day-light  to  seek  Se- 
bastian in  Pelestrina.  Before  entering  Sebas- 
tian's room,  he  beckoned  to  him  the  youngei 
serving  man,  and  asked  his  name. 

"  Giovanni,"  replied  the  man. 

"Then,  Giovanni,"  said  Ranieri,  "I  would 
have  both  of  you  attend  me  where  I  am  going, 
but  keep  you  closer  to  me  than  your  friend 
Battista  ;  for  however  useful  a  sturdy  arm  may 
be,  I  deem  you  to  be  the  discreeter  man  ;  there- 
fore you  keep  closer  to  me,  but  yet  not  so  close 
as  to  offend  the  noble  with  whom  I  am  going 
to  confer  ;  for  Messer  da  Recanati  may  have 
told  you  that  he  is  ready  to  take  offence — and 
yet  he  is  a  gentleman,  whose  favor  your  master 
most  needs." 

Ranieri's  familiar  manner  had  already  in 
part  disarmed  the  cunning  spy,  and  he  bowed 
with  more  respect  than  he  had  yet  shown  for 
his  master-charge.  They  entered  the  roonv 
Sebastian  was  right  glad  to  see  his  young  com- 
panion return  in  safety  ;  but  observing  strangers 
with  him,  he  somewhat  smothered  the  expres- 
sion of  his  pleasure.  Nevertheless  Ranieri 
embraced  his  friend  with  more  than  wonted 
fervor,  and  while  he  did  so,  thrust  the  paper 
he  had  w'ritten  into  his  clothes  at  the  back  of 
his  neck,  saying  in  a  quick  low  tone, 

"Read  this  and  say  nothing." 

"Dear  Sebastian,"  he  continued  aloud,  "I 
have,  you  see,  returned,  and  better  attended 
than  I  went,  for  my  friend  Recanati  has  left 
these  excellent  servants  for  my  use." 

Sebastian  was  silent,  not  knowing  how  to 
answer,  and  Ranieri  continued ;  he  told  Se- 
bastian that  he  had  been  whither  he  knew  he 
was  to  have  gone  ;  and  that  the  friends  whom 
he  had  seen,  wished  him  to  cause  an  order  to 
be  issued  for  the  whole  of  the  troops  to  be 
drawn  cut  on  a  day  to  be  fixed,  as  if  to  see 
their  strength  ;  and,"  added  Ranieri,  "let  it  be 
done  ;  for  then  shall  we  see  our  strength." 

And  presently  he  took  his  leave. 

No  sooner  was  he  gone,  than  Sebastian 
feeling  like  one  in  a  dream,  hastened  to  pluck 
out  the  paper  that  Ranieri  had  thrust  under  his 
clothes,  and  read  it.     It  ran  thus  : — 

"  I  have  seen  Carrara  in  Chiozza.  He  has 
gained,  through  Recanati,  the  troops  of  Pio- 
vere,  Buzzacherino,  and  some  more  whoso 
names  I  know  not.  If  the  troops  be  all  drawn 
out,  they  will  show  their  strength,  and  entice 
others,  and  declare  for  Carrara.  He  offers  you 
a  large  share  in  the  government  of  Venice, 
having  many  friends  therein.  I  have  promised 
that  the  troops  shall  be  drawn  out.  The  men 
who  are  with  me  are  spies,  to  kill  me  if  I  be- 
trayed Carrara,  therefore  remember  that  in 
thinking  of  what  I  say  to  you  aloud.  Tell 
Messer  Zeno  of  these  things,  and  let  him  do  as 
may  please  him." 

Sebastian  was  struck  with  amaze  at  the 
youth's  daring  and  his  danger  ;  and  he  instantly 
went  to  Zeno,  with  what  he  had  heard  and  the 
paper. 

"  Ah  !  the  traitor,"  cried  Carlo,  "  I  did  sus- 
pect as  much  ;  but  scarcely  could  I  have  thought 
such  daring  and  such  discretion  in  so  young  a 
man  as  your  friend.     His  promise  shall  be  ful 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


99 


filled  I  see  it  all.  And  you  say  he  was  dog- 
ged by  two  of  Kecanati's  men.  Aye,  Roberto 
has  the  sting  as  well  as  the  cunning  of  the 
serpent ;  but  we  will  foil  him  by  his  own  scheme. 
Can  you  count,  Sebastian,  upon  your  men,  or 
has  this  traitor  been  poisoning  their  ears  !" 

"  No,  my  lord ;  they  are  faithful ;  and  so  I 
think  are  all.  Since  Kanieridid  not  tell  of  any 
more,  I  should  suspect  that  there  are  no  new 
traitors ;  but  it  is  likely  that  those  whom  we 
have  already  marked,  have  returned  to  their 
falsehood.  These  I  can  name  to  you,  and 
these  must  be  watched." 

"They  shall  be  so.  Give  you  order  that 
Recanati's  troops  be  brought  here  on  the  mor- 
row, and  stationed  with  da  Piovere's  behind 
us  here,  towards  Brondolo.  Now  forsooth  do 
I  feel  that  I  am  driving  these  traitors  before 
me,  while  they  think  they  are  running  their 
own  course.  On  the  day  after  it  will  be  the 
Lord's  day,  and  we  will  rest ;  but  for  the  next 
day  we  will  contrive  a  plan  to  defeat  and  use 
these  knaves." 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

The  morning  v.'as  bright  and  sharp ;  and  as 
the  men  moved  hither  and  thither  to  take  their 
alloted  station,  every  one  looked  alert  and  ready 
for  action.  All  had  been  disposed  as  Zeno  desi- 
red. Recanati  and  his  own  force  had  been  spe- 
cially summoned  from  Pelestrina,  and  so  had 
the  remainder  of  Sebastian's  men,  who  had  been 
left  there  under  the  command  of  Ranieri. 

In  the  open  ground  between  the  town  of 
Brondolo  and  Chiozza,  were  arrayed  the  whole 
force  that  Zeno  had  gathered  to  the  spot  ;  the 
severals  bands  standing  in  compact  bodies,  at 
intervals ;  the  view  of  the  whole  broken  by  the 
tents  that  had  been  raised.  Far  in  the  rear, 
Recanati  was  at  the  head  of  his  men,  anxious 
care  gradually  giving  place  to  a  daring  hope,  as 
with  the  advance  of  day  the  whole  of  his  project 
seemed  to  go  forward  to  his  wish.  Near  him 
stood  da  Piovere  ;  the  burly  soldier  dissipating 
in  a  restless  activity  the  mixed  anxiety  and 
shame  which  moved  him  as  he  thought  that  the 
day  had  '^ome  wiien  he  was  to  betrav  tlie  natron 
who  had  so  often  shared  his  dangers,  improved 
his  fortunes,  and  had  even  so  lately  forgiven  his 
treachery.  Near  him  also  stood  Ranieri,  in 
whom  the  suspicious  Recanati  believed  that  he 
had  an  instrument  as  willing  and  as  cunning  as 
himself,  embarked  with  a  good  faith  in  his 
treacherous  enterprise.  Ranieri's  bearing  was 
such  as  to  strengthen  his  confidence.  The  youth 
was  clothed  in  gay  and  well  made  arms,  given 
to  him  by  Sebastian.  He  felt  no  alarm  at  the 
approactung  crisis  of  nis  fate.  The  danger  was 
as  far  too  great  for  his  own  control,  as  for  him 
to  oppose.  And  he  placed  his  trust  in  God,  and 
in  the  fortune  of  the  day,  throwing  in  his  safety 
as  a  stake  in  the  game  where  the  prize  was  to 
be  an  honor  so  much  above  bis  years.  Thus, 
while  he  still  was  with  Recanati,  he  had  nothing 
to  distract  his  mind  from  the  immediate  task 
before  it,  and  he  set  himself  to  advise  the  con- 
dottiere  in  the  disposal  of  his  men,  and  in  his 
own  demeanor  towards  Zeno,  as  though  he 
frere  heart  and  soul  in  the  successful  issue  of 
the  scheme. 


'•  Now,  Messer  Ranieri,  that  we  have  gone  so 
far,"  said  the  mercenary,  '•  it  were  well  to  tell 
you  the  immediate  purpose  that  we  have.  See 
you  here,"  he  continued,  as  he  stepped  apart 
from  his  band  to  command  a  better  view  of 
their  array,  "  these  men  are  mine  ;  those  beyond 
belong  to  Messer  da  Piovere ;  and  those  again 
on  this  side  to  Buzzacherino ;  and  on  this,  and 
on  this,"  pointing  as  he  spoke,  "  we  also  count ; 
the  whole  of  this  body,  strong  as  it  is,  belongs 
to  us  and  to  our  scheme.  Then  there  are  your 
own  men  or  Messer  Sehastiano's  whom  also  we 
may  count  with  us.  Is  it  not  a  good  show  1  We 
are  ill  placed  here,  and  must  find  some  way 
presently  to  move  more  to  the  front ;  but  there 
is  time  enough  ;  for  it  is  yet  full  early  ;  though  I 
have  told  those  who  are  to  receive  us,  never  to 
think  it  too  soon,  but  to  watch  for  us  even  from 
midnight.  I  do  believe  that  when  we  declare 
ourselves,  more  will  join  us  than  Messer  Se- 
bastiano ;  for  already  have  friends  of  mine 
spoken  to  Messer  Vendramini,  who  has  been 
very  hopeless  ever  since  he  found  the  troops  so 
■discGP.tented  ?.t  Pelestrina,  and  truly  we  can 
offer  much  to  those  who  seek  our  favor.  This 
then  our  plan  :  being  all  here  assembled  in  our 
strength,  we  shall  first  strive  to  know  how  we 
may  increase  it,  and  having  gathered  all  we  can, 
look  you,  we  inarch  to  Chiozza,  which  opens  its 
gates,  and  straightway  we  are  joined  by  all  the 
force  it  can  bring  to  the  field  we  already  possess. 
Carlo  Zeno  may  have  heart  for  the  fight,  but  the 
sword  will  break  in  his  hand.  There  are  dangers 
which  even  a  secret  shirt  of  mail  cannot  turn 
aside." 

"The  scheme  promises  well,  so  that  nothing 
occur  to  interrupt  our  path." 

"  To  interrupt  us  !  what  can  occur  1  We  have 
the  path  in  our  own  power:  it  is  straight  before 
us.  See  you  here;  there  is  nothing  that  lies 
between  us  and  Chiozza,  but  that  palisade,  the 
gates  of  which  we  hold  as  soon  as  we  will. 
What  can  occurs' 

As  he  spoke,  a  gentleman  came  to  them  and 
said,  that  the  generalissimo  desired  their  pre- 
sence at  a  council,  wishing  to  learn  the  condition 
of  all  the  men  and  their  stores.  Recanati  looked 
at  Ranieri,  as  much  as  to  ask  if  he  had  heard  of 
this  councill 

"  Perhaps,"  «aid  Ranieri  to  him,  in  a  low 
voice  but  smiling,  "  this  may  be  one  of  the  ac- 
cidents of  which  I  spoke  ;  for  it  is  more  than 
either  you  or  I  meant." 

"  It  is  no  matter,"  answered  the  condottiere. 
"Accident  or  design,  it  yet  may  serve  our  pur- 
pose. Let  us  go.  I  will  but  return  to  tell  da 
Piovere  that  he  may  keep  my  command  until  I 
come  back,  and  that  we  will  go  together. 

Whether  some  suspicion  crossed  Recanati's 
mind  ihat  made  him  more  anxious  to  keep  the 
youth  by  his  side,  or  whether  it  was  that  he  al- 
ways worked  in  doubt  and  distrust,  certain  it  is 
that  he  seemed  more  anxious  than  ever  not  to 
miss  Ranieri.  The  young  man  obeyed  his  wish  ; 
and  showing  no  distrust,  accompanied  him  to  his 
post  at  the  head  of  his  men,  but  when  they  ar- 
rived there,  they  found  that  da  Piovere  had  al- 
ready repaired  to  the  council  to  which  he  had 
been  summoned,  and  one  of  Recanati's  officers 
told  him  that  he  had  seen  many  other  leaders  of 
the  different  bands  on  the  ground  repairing  to 
Carlo  Zeno's  tent. 


100 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


"  Why  then,"  said  Recanali  to  his  companion, 
*'  we  must  go  perforce  ;  for  it  woulJ  be  amiss 
to  remain  outside,  unknowing  of  what  passes." 

The  distance  was  not  so  great  but  a  man 
might  wallv  it  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 
They  entered  the  tent,  and  the  condottiere  cast 
around  a  hasty  glance.  He  suppressed  the  sur- 
prise he  felt  when  he  saw  Zeno  accoutred  in  full 
armor,  as  if  ready  for  action,  tiie  white  and 
azure  bars,  of  eight  pieces,  blazoned  on  his  sur- 
coat ;  all  the  nobles  by  wham  he  was  surrounded 
were  also  in  arms :  near  him  stood  the  provedi- 
tore,  Vendramini,  Marco  Morosini  and  his  son, 
Pietro  Emo,  Edward,  Wdliam  Cooke,  and  many 
trusty  leaders  of  the  Venetian  armies,  even 
some  whose  men  were  not  upon  the  ground. 
The  condottiere  had  not  expected  to  find  so  full 
a  council.  Not  far  within  the  entrance  of  the 
tent  stood  da  Piovere,  and  the  companions  of 
Recanati's  conspiracy  ;  and  he  was  somewhat 
reassured,  when  among  the  group  near  Zeno, 
he  saw  Alessandro  da  Padova,  Lionardo  Mo- 
rosini, Marian  Barbarigo,  and  Pietro  di  Ber- 
nardo. 

There  was  a  general  silence.  Even  the  few 
whispers  that  passed  between  those  who  stood 
near  to  each  other -might  almost  be  distinguished 
in  the  general  stillness.  The  principal  group 
stood  perfectly  mute — Zeno  seeming  to  await 
some  farther  event.  As  they  went  in,  Ranieri 
would  have  stepped  over  to  Sebastian,  but  Re- 
canati  suddenly  grasped  his  wrist,  and  drew 
liim  close  to  his  side,  pressing  to  take  up  their 
station  in  the  midst  of  the  small  knot  of  leagued 
captains. 

"  I  did  but  desire  to  ask,"  said  Ranieri  in  a 
wliisper,  "  the  meaning  of  this  council." 

"  It  is  well,"  answered  the  other,  "  but  we 
can  wait." 

Though  he  studiously  forbore  to  meet  the  eye 
of  Recanati,  Carlo  Zeno  had  noted  his.entrance  ; 
and  soon  afterwards  stepping  a  little  forward  he 
.said  aloud, — 

"  I  have  summoned  you  all,  gentlemen,  my 
very  good  companions,  to  learn  from  you  the 
stale  in  which  our  forces  now  are.  The  power 
of  the  Genoese  has  sunk  so  low,  that  but  a  little 
more  struggle  will  throw  them  entirely  within 
our  reach.  To  make  the  blow  the  quicker,  to 
make  it  the  more  merciful  to  ourselves,  it  needs 
that  we  should  have  our  utmost  strength  for  a 
last  attack.  Therefore  would  I  know  in  what 
condition  are  our  men,  and  in  what  mood  ;  for 
if  they  are  not  with  us  in  their  hearts,  their 
arms  can  little  avail  us ;  and  I  would  take 
Chiozza  only  by  the  help  of  those  who  desired 
to  seize  it  with  me.  We  have  had  amongst  us, 
as  it  has  been  said  aloud  in  Venice,  foul  treache- 
ry. It  has  even  shown  its  face  before  our  sight ; 
but  that  was  when  the  fortunes  of  Venice  seem- 
ed at  their  lowest.  The  favor  of  heaven  al- 
ways maketh  men  kind,  and  I  arn  fain  to  believe 
that  now  we  are  in  our  strength,  there  are  none 
that  seek  to  abandon  us.  Therefore  have  I  al- 
most forgotten  the  treachery  that  showed  itself 
amongst  us — of  that,  no  more,  but  I  would  learn 
from  you,  who  so  well  can  tell  me,  how  are  your 
men  furnished  with  arms,  whether  they  are  well 
contented  with  the  provision  that  they  have  had, 
and  in  what  stale  is  their  discipline.  Are  they 
prompt  to  obey?  ready  to  advance  at  a  word  1 
ready    to   fall   back  at   a   sign  1  and  especially 


those  who  are  most  strange  to  us,  and  owe  less 
love  and  allegiance  to  Venice.  Messer  Gugliel- 
mo  Coco  shall  first  tell  me  whether  his  men  are 
faithful  as  ever.  Stand  forth,  excellent  sir,  that 
we  all  may  hear  your  answer." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Cooke,  answering  in  Eng- 
lish, "  I  think  that  when  you  command  you 
will  know  no  difTerence  in  the  bearing  of  my 
men  from  what  you  have  found  before." 

"  I  need  scarcely  translate  our  friend's  an- 
swer," said  Zeno,  "  for  it  is  what  we  all  expect. 
And  you,  Messer  da  Piovere,  are  your  men  as 
sturdy  as  ever,  as  bold,  as  generous,  and  as 
faithful  as  their  leader!  Stand  forth,  sir,  that 
all  may  understand  what  noble  soldiers  are 
your  men,  and  how  much  they  deserve  their 
excellent  leader." 

The  old  soldier's  color  went  and  came.  He 
turned  pale  at  first,  and  then  flushed  to  a  pur- 
ple red  ;  and  as  he  swayed  from  side  to  side, 
hesitating  whether  to  step  forward,  or  not, 
whether  to  speak  or  remain  silent,  he  muttered 
some  scarcely  intelligible  sounds. 

"  How  is  this,  Messer  da  Piovere,"  cried 
Zeno.  "  Nothing  has  happened  amiss?  Indeed 
I  saw  your  men  as  I  entered,  and  truly  1  thought 
that  never  saw  I  a  finer  band.  Come  hither  to 
me,  my  good  friend,  and  if  some  doubt  has  as- 
sailed you,  tell  it  softly  to  me  here,  and  we  will 
find  a  remedy." 

As  he  spoke,  Recanati's  face  had  grown  grad- 
ually dark  and  angry — his  cutting  glance  had 
passed  from  the  old  condottiere  to  Sebastian 
and  Ranieri,  and  to  the  high  conspirators  whom 
he  saw  engaged  among  the  Venetian  nobles. 
Placing  his  hand  stealthily  towards  his  fellow 
soldier,  he  struck  him  in  the  side  to  recal  him 
to  himself,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  Answer,  answer  ;  let  your  answer  be  what 
it  will,  speak  at  once." 

Mechanically  obeying  both  commands,  da  Pio- 
vere stepped  forward  towards  the  general,  stam- 
mering as  he  said, 

"  My  lord,  I  trust  you  suspect  no  ill  V 

Recanati  saw  da  Piovere  leave  his  side  with 
impatient  anger,  and  turning  to  his  companions, 
he  said,  in  an  under  tone, 

"  JiOok  after  our  young  friend  here.  You 
shall  account  to  me  for  this,  sir." 

"  Be  discreet,"  answered  Ranieri,  "  there  is 
nothing  yet  wrong  if  you  can  but  silence  that 
old  babbler,  who  has  no  more  rein  upon  his 
tongue  than  a  child  ;  therefore  speak  you  as 
soon  as  you  can  to  stop  him." 

Recanati  bent  another  hasty  regard  on  Ran- 
ieri, doubtful  whether  to  trust  him  the  more,  or 
to  suspect  him  the  more  for  the  calmness  of  his 
reply. 

"  What  means  this  ?"  cried  Zeno,  "  has  some- 
thing befallen  our  friend  da  Piovere?  It  may 
be  that  his  companions  can  tell  us;  and  you, 
Messer  da  Recanati,  may  perchance  explain 
how  comes  it  that  this  excellent  old  man  is  so 
^■trongly  moved  ?" 

Recanali  at  once  suppressed  all  outward  sign 
of  the  rage  and  doubt  that  now  consumed  him, 
and  he  answered  with  a  smile,  "  Our  gray- 
headed  warrior  is  as  shame-faced  as  a  girl ; 
and  ttierefore  is  it,  that  in  the  presence  of  so 
many  your  words  have  moved  him." 

Motionless  for  an  instant,  Recanati  looked 
from  Zeno  to  Ranieri  ;  and  then  he  said  to  the 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


101 


general,  in  a  stern  voice  that  rang  in  the  silence 
of  the  place. 

"  I  see  that  Messer  Zeno  still  ungenerously 
suspects  me  ;  tliat  I  have  been  betrayed  by 
spies  set  over  me,  and  that  I  can  no  longer  seek 
honor  in  the  service  of  Venice." 

Suddenly  the  fire  of  his  eye  grew  fiercer,  and 
moving  with  a  rapidity  that  the  eye  could  not 
follow,  he  snatched  forth  a  short  dagger  from 
his  side  and  plunged  it  into  llanieri — not  wait- 
ing to  pluck  it  back,  but  rushing  towards  the 
entrance. 

"  Seize  him,"  cried  Zeno. 

He  was  gone.  The  men  who  had  stolen  be- 
hind the  group  of  conspirators  to  seize  them  at 
a  given  signal,  rushed  forward  and  captured 
Ranieri  and  those  near  him.  But  the  chief  had 
darted  through  their  confused  rank,  like  a  swal- 
low between  the  branches  of  a  tree. 

"  Pursue  him,"  again  cried  Zeno. 

The  men  darted  from  the  tent  in  pursuit;  the 
whole  place  was  in  confusion ;  swords  had 
been  drawn  at  the  first  act  of  violence,  and 
there  was  a  general  move  to  follow  the  fugitive. 

"Stop,  sirs,  stop,"  cried  Zeno,  holding  up  his 
hand  ;  "  let  us  not  check  each  other's  way.  He 
has  already  escaped,  or  we  shall  find  him  in 
bonds.  Follow  me  who  lists,  but  let  us  go  or- 
derly." 

The  agile  Recanati  would  far  have  distanced 
his  pursuers,  but  lor  the  most  untoward  acci- 
dent. As  he  rushed  headlong  from  the  tent,  a 
soldier  of  the  guard  without  crossed  the  path, 
and  the  flying  cavalier  dashed  against  him. 
The  soldier  was  struck  down  on  the  spot,  and 
Recanati,  stumbling  over  the  falling  man  fell  at 
full  length  upon  the  ground.  The  soldier,  be- 
wildered and  angered  by  the  sudden  assault, 
grappled  with  his  assailant  and  called  loudly  for 
help. 

"  Release  me — release  me  !"  cried  Recanati, 
"  I  have  a  message  from  the  general." 

The  angry  man  heard  hini  not;  and  some 
short  time  had  passed  before  he  could  tear  him- 
self free  from  the  grasp  that  held  him.  As  he 
rose  he  saw  that  he  was  surrounded  by  the  band 
from  which  he  had  fled.  Nothing  daunted,  he 
drew  his  sword  and  again  dashed  forward, 
pushing  desperately  for  his  onward  path,  and 
striking  those  who  opposed  him  with  such  im- 
petuosity that  even  tlie  increasing  numbers  that 
now  assailed  him  from  every  side  could  not  al- 
together resist  his  progress.  In  the  skirmish, 
some  received  the  blows  from  their  fellows  that 
were  meant  for  h'im  ;  many  a  hand  grasped  his 
clothes,  felt  them  torn  apart  with  fingers  chafed 
by  the  rapidity  of  his  motion  ;  and  more  than 
one  hand  thus  thrust  forward  was  liastily  snatch- 
ed back  in  hleedmg  agony.  Still  he  made  way, 
when  Zeno  issued  from  the  tent,  and  seeing  how 
matters  stood,  hastily  sent  round  some  few  who 
yet  were  fresh,  to  [ilace  themselves  full  and  close 
together  in  the  condotliere's  path  ;  wl^ilc,  with 
Morosini,  Edward,  and  others  of  liis  friends,  he 
stepped  hjtvhids  tjie  desperate  tra/ior. 

"Yield  yourself,  Messer  da  Recanati,"  he 
cried,  "  there  is  no  longer  hope  for  your  flight. 
Yield  yourself,  if  you  would  have  mercy.  He 
heeds  me  not ;  the  blundering  fools  hinder  each 
other  and  fight  on  his  side.  Who  will  stop  him 
for  me^  for  if  he  escape,  Venice  may  bo  lost." 

At  the  word   Edward    spVang   forward,  and 


calling  out  10  the  soldiers  to  leave  his  prey,  he 
rushed  upon  the  traitor  himself.  Recanati 
turned  to  his  new  foe.  Despite  his  exertion, 
his  face  was  pale  with  ra^e  and  settled  purpose, 
and  losing  no  time  in  words  or  attempts  at  flight, 
he  threw  into  one  fierce  blow  at  the  neck  of 
Edward,  whose  head  was  unarmed,  his  whole 
intent  to  destroy  at  one  sweep  that  hindrance 
to  his  flight.  Edward  but  half  avoided  the 
stroke,  which  alighted  partly  on  his  neck  and 
partly  on  the  edge  of  his  mail,  writing  in  a  deep 
red  line  of  jagged  flesh  and  iron  the  strength 
and  fierceness  of  the  Florentine.  The  other  too 
strove  to  make  the  first  blow  do  the  whole  of 
his  will,  and  he  aimed  his  thrust  full  in  the  face 
of  Recanati.  It  struck  him  on  the  chin  and 
glancing  down  between  the  bone  and  the  edge 
of  the  mail  wounded  him  deeply  in  the  throat. 
He  staggered. 

"  One  more  blow  for  Venice,"  cried  Zeno. 

Edward's  arm  obeyed  the  will  of  its  leader  ; 
and  his  second  stroke  cleft  the  falling  traitor 
across  the  eyes,  and  he  fell  a  dead  man. 

By  this  time  the  open  space  outside  the  tent 
was  in  the  utmost  confusion — men  running 
hither  and  thither,  shouts  echoing  in  every  part, 
and  a  large  moving  crowd  keeping  up  a  continual 
scramble  to  see  what  was  passing  in  the  circle 
around  the  combatants.  , 

"  We  must  silence  this,"  said  Zeno,  "or  we 
shall  have  the  traitor's  men  upon  us.  Bear  in 
the  body.  And  let  us  at  once  dispose  of  these 
infected  hands.     Where  is  Sebastian  1" 

"I  am  here,"  answered  the  man  himself. 

"  I  had  thought  that  you  were  with  your 
wounded  friend  :  how  fares  he?" 

"  I  am  here  too,  my  lord,"  answered  Ranieri, 
"  with  nothing  worse  than  a  bruised  cut  upon 
my  shoulders."  Stepping  close  to  the  general 
the  youth  said  to  him  in  a  low  and  earnest  voice, 
"Did  you,  my  lord,  understand  my  message? 
there  is  a  path  open  for  us  into  Chiozza,  if  we 
use  it  betimes." 

Zeno  smiled  ;  he  was  pleased  with  the  bold- 
ness and  spirit  of  the  youth,  and  more  so  with 
his  discreet  cunning. 

"  It  is  all  planned,  Ranieri  mio ;  and  you,  if 
you  are  not  much  hurt,  shall  take  your  share  in 
it ;  for  none  of  us  can  so  fitly  be  the  guide,  since 
you  know  what  is  passing  on  both  sides,  and 
you  are  known  to  both.  It  is  all  done.  Sebas- 
tian, hasten  to  your  own  men,  and  let  Messer 
Guglielmo  and  the  other  troops  whom  you  have 
in  readiness  quickly  move  around  those  of  this 
traitor  here.  And  now  let  me  have  some  sharp 
fellow  among  your  men." 

Sebastian  beckoned  to  a  soldier,  who  ap- 
proached them. 

"  Can  you  look  frightened,  my  brave  fellow  V 
said  Zeno. 

"  I  will  try,  my  lord." 

"  Why  then  run  to  Messer  Recanati's  men. 
You  know  where  they  are  stationed  ;  run  and 
shout  as  if  for  your  life,  that  Messer  Recanati  is 
iccratjcd,  and  ihat  they  must  hasten  to  his  res- 
cue. Now,  stand  no  longer,  but  run  and  let  us 
see  how  fast  your  legs  can  go."  The  man 
scampered  oflf  as  if  he  ran  for  a  footrace;  and 
presently  he  had  passed  the  tents  that  hid  him 
from  their  sight.  "They  will  already  have 
heard  the  tumult ;  let  me  have  another  such 
fellow,  Sebastian." 


10^ 


THE  FOSTER    BROTHER. 


Sebastian  again  summoned  one  of  those  that 
stood  around. 

"  Now,  my  man,"'  said  Zeno,  "  see  if  you  can 
run  as  fast  as  our  friend :  follow  him  and  say 
that  Rccanati  is  dead.  Shout  it  aloud,  and  let 
them  hear  it  well — dead,  dead ; — mind  that  they 
hear  that." 

That  man  too  ran  ofT,  and  presently  was  out 
of  sight.  Sebastian  and  Cooke,  with  other  oOi- 
cers,  had  already  left  Zeno's  side  to  take  tiie 
head  of  their  men  ;  and  the  general  himself 
with  Vendramini,  Morosini,  and  the  guard  fol- 
lowing them  close,  now  took  the  path  that  had 
been  taken  by  the  two  soldiers.  In  a  little  time 
they  came  in  sight  of  Recanati's  men,  and  there, 
as  they  expected,  they  saw  all  confusion  ;  a 
large  number  already  hastening  with  fire  and 
anger  in  their  looks,  towards  the  part  where  the 
nobles  had  come.  Leaving  his  friends  Zeno 
stepped  briskly  forward  alone,  and  standing 
erect  he  held  his  hand  on  hiyh.  The  mutinous 
soldiers  stopped,  as  if  uncertain  of  thtir  pui- 
pose. 

"  What  is  it  you  want,  my  friends  V  he  said 
in  a  loud  and  pleasant  voice  ;  "  what  is  it  you 
seekl" 

"  Da  Recanati,  our  captain  ;  our  Recanati," 
shouted  the  men  ;  some  few  again  moving  for- 
ward. 

Again  Zeno  raised  his  hand. 

"Your  Recanati,"  he  cried,  "is  dead;  he 
would  have  betrayed  you,  as  he  would  have  be- 
trayed us  ;  and  for  his  own  gain  he  would  have 
led  you  to  death.  He  had  deceived  you,  for  he 
told  you  that  he  was  strong  while  he  still  was 
weak.  He  told  you — answer  me,  did  he  not  ! 
— that  MesserMorosini's  men  were  your  friends 
who  would  be  on  your  side.  Now  look  you 
here."  He  waved  his  hand  around.  "  These 
are  Messer  Morosini's  men  who  surround  you. 
Look  behind  you — they  are  the  men  of  Messer 
Coco.  You  are  surrounded  and  divided  in  every 
part,  and  the  prize  that  da  Recanati  had  prom- 
ised you  was  hopeless.  Tell  me  your  wishes. 
They  shall  not  he  denied." 

As  he  spoke  in  a  pleasant  manner,  the  men 
looked  round,  and  seeing  that  truly  they  were 
encompassed  on  every  side  by  close  bands  that 
kept  marching  slowly  round  and  separated  the 
disordered  mutineers  in  more  and  more  places, 
they  were  daunted,  and  standing  sullenly  still, 
they  yielded  to  the  command  of  Zeno. 

Had  it  been  any  other  they  might  longer  have 
resisted  ;  but  Zeno's  fortune  was  accounted  too 
irresistible  not  to  overbear  the  courage  of  men 
who  had  lost  their  leader,  who  knew  not  the 
path  to  pursue  the  enterprise  to  which  he  would 
have  led  them,  and  who  lacked  contidence  in 
each  other. 

Zeno  again  spoke — 

"  Fear  not  for  yourselves  ;  it  is  your  captain 
that  vv'as  the  traitor.  You  were  betrayed,  and 
yet  again  in  the  triumph  of  Venice  you  shall 
reap  that  guerdon,  you  shall  have  that  spoil 
which  he  would  have  denied  to  you.  Go  back 
to  your  tents  and  rest  you ;  more  at  leisure  I 
will  confer  with  those  among  you  in  whom  you 
trust,  and  we  will  contrive  how  you  shall  be 
provided  with  leaders,  and  how  you  shall  be 
paid.  Does  that  please  youl  Some  of  ye  an- 
swer me." 

"  Aye,  my  lord,"  cried  one  near  to  him,  "  we 


must  be  content  perforce,  since  it  seems  we  are 
prisoners,  and  truly  you  speak  us  fair." 

"  I  speak  no  fairer  than  I  will  do.  Back  to 
your  tents,  and  on  the  morrow,  if  need  be,  you 
shall  again  he  led  forth  in  the  battle  of  Venice. 
Messer  Vendramini  the  proveditore  will  lead 
you  to  your  tents.  You  know  him  for  a  friend 
of  old,  and  you  know  how  highly  he  is  esteemed 
in  Venice." 

As  he  had  said,  Vendramini  and  other  of  the 
nobles  approached  Recanati's  men,  who  went 
the  way  they  came  slowly,  and  perchance  some- 
what sullenly  ;  casting  on  either  side  no  pleased 
glances  at  the  close  ranks  that  formed  a  barrier 
to  their  path  and  opened  as  they  advanced  to  let 
them  pass  with  their  Venetian  leaders. 

Seeing  that  his  purpose  was  thus  done,  Zeno 
turned  round,  saying — 

"Now  your  second  task  begins,  Ranieri. 
Come  hither." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  youth's  shoulder,  and 
&eein^  him  wince,  he  said — - 

"  I  had  forgot  your  wound,  and  it  is  often  that 
the  love  of  friends  will  thus  hurt  us  in  pleasing 
itself  But  your  cut  has  not  taken  the  color 
from  your  cheek.  It  was  well  for  you  that  Re- 
canati was  in  such  haste,  for  he  did  not  ofien 
aim  so  ill.  Have  you  still  strength  to  do  our 
bidding?" 

"  I  believe,  my  lord,  that  all  who  serve  you 
will  go  on  as  long  as  you  please  to  command, 
for  I  do  not  see  that  any  draw  back  when  you 
bid  them  go  forward  ;  nor  will  I  be  the  first  to 
do  so.  I  am  only  too  fortunate  in  being  chosen 
while  so  young  and  helpless — " 

"Young  truly,"  cried  Zeno,  "but  there  are 
many  older  who  have  given  me  less  help,  with 
all  their  years,  than  you  have  in  these  few  days. 
We  shall  yet  task  your  strength  and  courage 
still  farther,  and  you  may  remember  that  if  we 
now  push  you  within  the  very  reach  of  death, 
you  are  making  your  good  fame  faster  than  any 
of  us  have  made  it." 

"  I  think,  my  lord,  that  one  reason  why  you 
are  so  well  served  is  that  you  over-pay  your 
servants  with  too  much  praise." 

"Why,  then,"  answered  the  general,  "con- 
sider that  I  have  paid  you  in  advance,  and  if  I 
have  put  too  much  in  your  treas'ury,  you  shall 
still  earn  it.  And  now  for  the  first  time,  Giovi- 
netto  mio,  you  shall  enter  into  most  grave  and 
solemn  council.  Come  with  me  to  my  tent 
where  you  shall  be  taught  your  task.  But  this 
I  will  tell  you  before  we  enter :  that  old  man  da 
Piovere  has  wits  so  feeble  that  he  cannot  keep 
his  own  honesty,  but  must  even  let  his  will  lie 
abroad  to  be  handled  h'y  every  knave  that  will 
steal  it.  Thus  I  account  it  not  his  knavery  that 
he  is  a  traitor,  but  rather  that  in  his  person  da 
Recanati  himself  was  two  knaves.  Now  this 
old  man  is  very  free  of  heart,  so  that  you  may 
easily  turn  him  to  your  purpose,  good  or  bad  ; 
therefore  will  we,  shaming  him  sorely,  make  him 
very  pemlent,  and  you  will  see  that  he  will  do 
our  bidding  as  easily  as  he  would  da  Recanati's. 
He  went  with  you,  did  he  not,  when  da  Reca- 
nati took  you  to  Chiozzal" 

"Pie  did." 

"  Why  then  he  shall  go  with  you  now,  foi 
then  seeing  him  as  well  as  you,  the  Genoese 
will  put  more  trust  in  you.  But  this  is  what  I 
would  tell  you,  lest  we  should  l)e  mistaken  in  da 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


103 


Piovere's  good  intent,  or  lest  he  should  be  even 
yet  more  feeble  than  we  account  him,  and 
should  fall  from  his  word — we  must  be  shielded 
from  the  dangers  of  his  weakness  ;  therefore  he 
will  go  with  you  as  a  companion  ;  but  with  him 
shall  be,  to  keep  close  by  his  side,  even  as  you 
were  watched,  some  three  or  four  stout  fellows, 
who,  at  the  pointing  of  your  finger,  shall  despatch 
him  at  your  feet.  And  now  tell  me,  Kanieri 
mio,  if  you  can  steel  your  heart  like  a  man  to 
do  Venice  this  duty  !"' 

"  My  lord,  I  have  given  myself  up  to  you  to 
be  fashioned  as  you  list,  knowing  that  you  are 
the  wisest  workman  in  Venice,  whose  order  we 
have  only  to  make  good.  Therefore  whatever 
you  think  fit  to  command,  I  think,  because  it  is 
so  commanded,  the  properest  to  do." 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

Soon  after  they  had  entered  the  tent,  a  gene- 
ral movement  might  be  observed  among  the  sol- 
diers, who  were  marched  in  close  bands  from 
the  rear  towards  the  edge  of  the  encampment 
fronting  Chiozza  ;  and  on  all  faces  might  be  seen 
that  anxious  and  unsettled,  though  pleased  look, 
that  men  exhibit  who  are  bent  on  some  un- 
known enterprise,  which  they  believe  to  be  im- 
portant. This  movement  was  yet  unfinished, 
fresh  hands  were  still  quietly  taking  up  their 
station,  when  Ranieri  and  da  Piovere,  attended 
oy  some  few  of  the  soldiers  attached  to  Zeno's 
person,  issued  from  the  pavilion. 

Ranieri  walked  with  a  quick  and  confident 
step.  His  eye  glowed,  but  his  compressed  lip 
marked  the  effort  of  his  young  mind  to  put  re- 
straint upon  his  bearing  worthy  of  the  enter- 
prize. 

The  old  soldier  looked  dejected  and  shame- 
faced ;  but  still  was  there  an  effort  to  be  bold  and 
clieerlul ;  while  in  the  alacrity  of  his  step  and  the 
closeness  of  his  attendance  upon  his  young  com- 
panion, lie  seemed  to  show  that  there  was  no 
need  for  the  guard  that  had  been  placed  about 
him  to  secure  bis  new  fidelity.  The  stepped  to 
the  band,  picked  from  among  Sebastiano's  men, 
stationed  nearest  to  tlie  palisade,  and  with  a 
brief  delay  issued  at  once  towards  the  town. 
As  they  came  in  sight  their  movements  grew 
quicker,  and  their  march  turned  to  a  run  in  a 
feigned  flight. 

To  give  color  to  the  trick,  another  band 
headed  by  Cooke,  pursued  them  for  some  short 
distance  in  counterfeit  hostility,  but  quickly 
drew  back  as  if  engagecf  with  fresh  combatants 
in  the  rear.  Ranieri  slackened  his  pace,  and 
forming  his  men  into  better  order,  they  still  kept 
on  a  hasty  march  towards  the  bridge.  The  draw- 
bridge was  raised  ;  behind  it  stood  a  thick  crowd 
f)f  the  besieged  troops  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  them 
was  the  veteran  Doria,  watching  the  issue  of  the 
movements  on  the  opposite  side.  I^ong  had  he 
stood  at  his  post  expecting  the  signal  for  his 
army  to  issue  from  the  town  ;  and  now,  when 
he  saw  Ranieri  flying  before  his  pursuers,  the 
delay  seemed  in  part  accounted  for — Recanali's 
enterprise  must  have  failed.  The  fugitives  had 
come  far  upon  the  bridge,  and  still  no  sign  was 
made  that  the  upraised  draw-bridge  would  be 
lowered. 


The  youth  cried  out  as  he  still  pushed  on, 
"  Lower  the  bridge,  sirs,  if  you  would  not  have 
us  slain." 

"How  is  this,  GiovinettoV  cried  the  Genoese 
commander.  "  We  have  not  seen  the  signal ; 
and  our  compact  was,  that  we  should  issue  to 
you,  not  that  we  should  admit  a  strange  band 
into  the  town." 

"Aye,"  answered  Ranieri,  "so  would  it  have 
been  if  we  could  have  promised  success  ;  nor 
yet  are  we  defeated ;  but  traitors  have  been 
amongst  us,  and  Messer  Roberto  has  been  obli- 
ged to  forget  the  signal,  while  we  fought  for  our 
lives." 

"  Where  is  the  captain  ]  And  is  this  the 
whole  strength  that  he  was  to  bring  usl" 

"Not  so,  he  is  still  behind,  and  will  be  here 
anon,  but  he  remains  to  guard  the  rear,  while 
we  bring  off  as  many  as  we  may ;  for  a  large 
part  of  the  army  has  joined  with  us.  Still  Zeno 
will  not  let  us  off  so  easily,  but  that  we  have 
had  to  fight  our  way,  and  you  must  find  room 
for  us  in  the  town  if  you  would  keep  us  for  your 
own  service.  Lower  the  bridge,  sir,  that  a  path 
may  be  made  for  us." 

"  I  cannot  lower  the  bridge  until  I  see  the  sig- 
nal, or  until  Messer  Recanati  himself  shall  come 
to  make  a  new  compact." 

"  What !  a  compact  with  Carlo  Zeno  and  an 
armed  host  at  our  heels  !  Lower  the  bridge, 
sir ;  or  if  you  will  not  lower  it,  in  sooth  we  will 
go  back  to  Zeno,  for  he  will  treat  us  with  less 
cruelty  than  those  for  whom  we  have  deserted 
him.  Rather  would  I  have  the  mercy  that  Zeno 
will  show  to  traitors,  as  he  may  truly  call  us, 
than  stand  here  parleying  with  one  for  whom 
we  have  shed  our  blood,  yet  who  refuses  us 
shelter.  See  you  not  Messer  da  Piovere,  who 
has  been  separated  from  his  own  band ;  and 
look  you  here,  how  I  have  been  wounded  in  the 
shoulder.  Truly  will  God  bring  destruction  on 
those  who  thus  forsake  their  friends.  Lower 
the  bridge,  sir,  or  we  will  go  back — will  we  not, 
men!"  cried  the  youth,  in  a  loud  voice,  as  he 
turned  to  his  followers. 

"Aye,"  shouted  a  hundred  voices. 

"  How  know  we  that  your  tale  is  true,  that 
we  should  open  a  way  into  our  town,"  said 
Doria. 

"  True  !  do  you  ask  for  the  truth  of  our  story ! 
— why,  will  not  our  danger — will  not  this  very 
blood  tell  you  that  we  have  no  time  to  contrive 
falsehoods  !  And  see,  here  come  more  of  us.  If 
you  do  not  lower  the  bridge  I  will  go  back,  and 
say  that  you  cast  us  off',  and  that  we  had  better 
make  peace  with  Zeno,  while  yet  we  have 
arms  in  our  hands ;  for  we  are  so  strong,  sir, 
that  we  yet  may  make  terms  for  ourselves  with 
Zeno  before  he  has  quite  conquered  us.  Only 
that  w^e  thought  to  join  our  friends  and  to  in- 
crease our  strength,  Messer  Recanati  would 
sooner  have  sent  me  to  open  a  path  for  him  into 
the  town.  Let  down  the  bridge  at  once,  or  we 
return."  * 

Doria  still  hesitated ;  but  after  remaining  for 
some  moments  silent,  he  suddenly  started  like 
a  man  who  has  cast  aside  some  dreaming 
doubts  ;  and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  he  signed 
for  the  bridge  to  be  lowered.  Rs  creaking  joints 
had  scarcely  ceased  their  sound,  ere  its  shaken 
timbers,  late  so  hastily  repaired,  were  pressed 
with  the  tread  of  Venetian  soldiers ;  in  a  few 


104 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


minutes,  Ranieri  and  da  Piovere  stood  among 
their  men  before  Doria  at  the  open  gate  of  the 
town  ;  which  was  crowded  on  the  top  and  on 
every  side  by  anxious  spectators ;  while  the 
space  within  was  peopled  by  the  bands  that 
stood  ready  to  issue  forth. 

"Where  is  Messer  Carrara,  my  lord,"  asked 
Ranieri  of  the  Genoese,  "  that  he  is  not  here  to 
confer  with  us  at  such  a  moment  V 

Carrara  has  been  watching  here  since  sunrise, 
and  he  left  us  but  just  before  you  came,  for  I  sent 
him  in  to  rest  while  I  should  watch." 

"  He  had  better  be  sent  for,"  said  the  youth, 
"  since  you  say  that  some  new  compact  must 
be  made  ;  for  while  our  companions  are  march- 
ing to  the  town  with  an  angry  foe  behind  them, 
it  little  behoves  to  have  in  front  that  which  will 
stop  our  way.  If  the  old  compact  is  not  enough, 
my  lord,  let  us  have  a  new  one  at  once  ;  for  I  do 
believe  that  Messer  Recanati  will  not  arrive  so 
long  as  he  can  keep  back  the  Venetians  ;  and 
when  he  does  there  will  be  little  time  for  us  to 
stand  here  at  the  town  gate  making  terms  to 
enter  it  or  not — send  for  him  at  once,  sir,  that 
Messer  da  Piovere  and  I  may  make  the  compact 
with  him  now." 

"  You  speak  boldly,  youth,"  said  the  venerable 
commander.  "I  did  but  talk  of  compacts  while 
I  doubted.  It  is  too  late  to  doubt  now.  But  keep 
your  men  together,  and  we  will  make  compacts 
after  you  are  in  town.  March  your  men,  and 
we  shall  see  them  safely  disposed  of  in  the 
piazza." 

"  Nay,  my  good  lord,"  answered  Ranieri  with 
a  sneer,  "  those  who  doubt,  wake  others'  doubts, 
and  I  will  not  leave  this  gate  while  I  see  the 
path  for  my  hard  pressed  companions  uncertain. 
Let  your  men  stand  back,  for  there  will  not  be 
room  for  us ;  and  truly  when  Messer  Recanati 
comes,  we  shall  be  in  haste  to  shut  the  gate  be- 
hind his  back." 

While  this  converse  had  proceeded,  anotner 
band,  and  yet  another  had  come,  flying  from  the 
encampment ;  hasty  steps  already  resounded  on 
the  bridge.  Ranieri's  companions  began  to  press 
hard  upon  the  soldiery  stationed  under  the  gate  ; 
and  turning  with  an  angry  glance  to  the  old  con- 
dottiere,  the  youth  said, 

"  You  are  silent,  Messer  da  Piovere ;  we 
want  your  tongue  here  as  well  as  your  hand  ; 
why  do  you  not  help  me  to  make  a  path  for  our 
men  V 

The  old  man  flushed  like  one  rebuked,  and 
then  called  out  in  a  loud  voice,  asking  Doria  to 
order  back  liis  own  soldiers.  The  Genoese 
commander  complied  ;  he  motioned  them  back, 
and  a  few-  steps  more  placed  the  front  of  Ranie- 
ri's troop  within  the  gates.  Still  more  of  the 
Venetian  soldiers  now  crowded  behind  them. 
More  and  more  came  on,  still  keeping  up  a  sem- 
blance of  flight.  More  and  more  again,  till  it 
seemed  that  the  living  stream  would  never  cease 
to  pour  over  the  edge  of  the  hill. 

Doria's  frowning  brmv  grew  thoughtful  and 
gloomy,  as  he  saw  so  large  a  force  now  hold  the 
bridge  and  the  gate,  and  pressing  in  towards 
the  town.  Privately  he  sent  one  to  summon 
Carrara,  while  others  went  among  his  own  men 
and  bade  them  stand  firmly  to  their  posts, 
making  a  narrow  path  for  the  Venetian  fugi- 
tives. 

"  I  do  not  see,"  he  said,  with  a  look  of  grow- 


ing suspicion,  to  Ranieri,  "that  much  fighting 
passes  yonder.  Let  your  men  march  in,  sir,  for 
we  ourselves  must  keep  the  gate,  and  the  bridge 
is  overcrowded.     March  in,  sir." 

"  Anon,  anon,"'  answered  Ranieri,  scarcel 
heeding  him  ;  for  not  far  off  he  saw  WiUian. 
Cooke,  and  but  a  little  behind  him  Sebastian 
and  Carlo  Zeno  with  a  whole  troop  of  Venetian 
leaders  following  close  upon  their  general :  "I 
have  told  you,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  to  Doria, 
"  that  I  will  not  leave  the  gate  until  my  friends 
have  entered  it ;  and  I  shall  stand  to  my  word." 

"  Nay,  youngster,  it  is  I  who  command  in 
Chiozza  as  yet  ;  therefore,  I  say,  move  on,  if 
you  would  not  be  roughly  handled.  We  wili 
close  the  gates  upon  you  and  keep  you  out,  if 
joining  us  you  obey  not  our  command." 

"  Zeno  was  pressing  forward  through  his 
men,  whose  passage  was  now  blocked,  and 
already  he  was  upon  the  drawbridge,  when  Ra- 
nieri, seeing  that  the  time  had  come  to  relieve 
the  bridge  of  its  choking  load,  turned  to  Doria, 
and  said, 

"Now,  sir,  we  will  go  forward." 

There  was  something  in  his  look  that  alarmed 
the  Genoese  with  a  suspicion  of  the  truth. 
Glancing  his  eye  hastily  towards  the  bridge,  he 
saw,  threading  their  way  through  the  dense 
mass  of  soldiers,  a  long  line  of  cavaliers,  too 
many  and  too  august  in  their  bearing  to  be  the 
condottieri  with  whom  the  compact  had  been 
made  ;  while  Recanati  himself  was  still  absent. 
Suddenly  drawing  his  sword  with  violence,  Do- 
ria said, 

"  None  shall  enter  the  town,  young  sir,  until 
Messer  Recanati,  comes  before  me  ;"  and  raising 
his  weapon  he  signalled  for  his  men  to  advance. 
They  were  not  slow  to  obey.  The  path  into 
the  town  was  walled  across  by  the  crowded 
soldiery  of  the  Genoese,  who  began  in  their 
turn  to  press  upon  the  intruders ;  while  Doria 
cried  out  to  Ranieri, 

"  Stand  back,  sir,  or  I  shall  strike  you  down." 

His  arm  was  raised.  Ranieri  heeded  it  not, 
so  intent  was  he  in  watching  Zeno's  advance — 
there  was  something  in  the  gallant  bearing  of 
the  lad,  and  even  in  the  manly  beauty  of  his 
form,  that  made  the  stern  old  warrior  e pare  the 
blow  while  yet  he  might,  and  dropping  his  wea- 
pon he  pushed  the  youth  with  the  other  hand 
towards  the  bridge. 

Ranieri  turned,  and  starting  swiftly  from  the 
stalwart  veteran,  he  shouted,  loud  and  clear, 

"  On,  men,  on  ;  now  for  Chiozza.  Viva  San 
Marco !" 

"Viva  San  Marco  I"  shouted  the  men;  and 
in  an  instant  the  place  ?v'here  Ranieri  had  stood 
chaffering  with  the  ancient  noble,  was  filled 
with  the  din  of  arms.  The  sudden  rush  of  the 
Venetians  headed  by  Ranieri  and  da  Piovere, 
who  took  vengeance  on  the  surprised  Genoese 
for  the  shame  of  his  own  wrong  and  treachery, 
had  carried  them  far  into  the  town — a  town 
now  crumbling  to  pieces  in  that  long,  wasteful 
war.  Pressed  behind  .by  their  friends,  they 
drove  back  Doria  and  his  men  a  great  distance 
before  they  came  to  a  st  and.  Bewildered  by  the 
suddenness  with  which  their  new  allies  had 
turned  to  invaders,  the  Genoese  soldiers  struck 
at  random  and  stood  to  their  ground  less  obsti- 
nately than  was  their  wont.  Ranieri  resting 
his  fortune  upon  the  deeds  of  that  day,  dashed 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


105 


madly  forward,  and  a  few  far  on  in  the  town 
were  engaged  in  the  unexpected  fight  before 
their  distant  general  could  give  them  order  to 
resist. 

So  it  went  on.  It  was  more  a  scuffle  than  a 
combat.  Those  who  newly  issued  from  the 
houses  into  the  streets  were  forced  hack  by  the 
strangers,  who  had  now  little  to  do  but  to  drive 
the  herd  before  them ;  so  panic-stricken  and 
bewildered  liad  the  once  bold  possessors  of  Chi- 
ozza  become.  Their  limbs  were  weakened  by 
bad  food,  and  still  more  by  fear ;  and  when  the 
cry  of  "Viva  San  Marco!"  rang  in  the  open 
place  before  the  podesta's  palace,  many  who 
heard  it  before  and  knew  that  the  town  was  ta- 
ken, believed  that  some  visitation  from  heaven 
had  destroyed  tjie  power  of  the  Genoese.  Over- 
powered by  numbers, — so  pressed  in  the  crowd 
that  he  could  not  wield  his  sword,  Doria  yielded 
himself  a  prisoner;  and  as  Carlo  Zeno  came 
before  the  palace,  the  place  seemed  suddenly 
re-peopled  by  its  old  race— so  utterly  had  the 
baffled  Genoese  been  routed — so  joyous  and  so 
multitudinous  was  the  throng  that  shouted  the 
national  cry  of  triumph. 

"  Well  done,  Ranieri  !"  said  the  general,  as 
he  struck  the  youth  on  the  shoulder;  "let  us 
liasten  in  to  the  palace  ;  perchance  the  arch 
traitor  may  still  be  there,  and  our  victory  may 
be  crowned  by  the  capture  of  Carrara." 

At  the  word  the  whole  band  of  nobles  around 
him  again  pressed  forward  and  entered  the  pa- 
lace. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

As  the  Venetians  entered  the  palace,  Ales- 
sandro  da  Padov;i,  who  had  kept  close  to  Zeno 
with  Marco  Mor^slni,  took  the  lead,  and  run- 
ning before  them  as  though  he  would  show  his 
zeal,  and  almost  take  the  palace  by  himself, 
guided  them  to  the  principal  hall.  It  was  de- 
serted. On  a  chair  near  a  table  lay  Carrara's 
cloak,  and  near  it  the  cloth  that  he  wore  upon 
his  head  in  exchange  for  his  helmet,  after  the 
fashion  of  his  family. 

"Seek  him  through  the  house,"  cried  Zeno, 
speaking  aloud,  above  the  din  that  broke  the 
silence  of  the  mansion. 

Many  hastily  left  the  room  at  every  door. 
Zeno  with  his  friends  and  Morosini  followed 
the  way  tliat  Alessandro  went ;  and  after  run- 
ning up  a  small  staircase,  they  found  them- 
selves in  a  room  less  than  the  one  below.  Here 
also  some  clothes  of  Carrara's  were  left  in 
haste.  A  little  bed  in  the  corner  was  still 
smooth,  for  he  had  not  slept  that  night  ;  and 
on  the  table  lay  a  few  papers,  that  in  the  haste 
^f  the  flight,  he  had  forgotten.  They  were  the 
spoil  of  the  conquerors.  Beneath  the  bed  was 
a  small  box,  which  Sebastian  hastily  dragged 
forth.  It  was  fastened — some  twenty  hands 
presently  wrenched  tlie  lid  from  its  hinges. 
The  box  contained  nought  but  paiiers  like  those 
upon  the  table.  Tliey  were  poured  out  hastily, 
and  hastily  glanced  at. 

Suddenly  every  eye  was  turned  at  a  loud  cry 

from  Alessandro  ;  his  look  was  fixed    intently 

upon  one  of  the  papers  that  had  been  snatched 

•Vom  the  box.     His  eye  glared  as  if  he  had  seen 

0 


an  apparition  ;  and  yet  there  was  in  it  the  fierce- 
ness of  a  bitter  triumph,  which  showed  that  it 
was  not  fear  that  had  possessed  him.  He  stood 
transfixed  ;  his  outstretched  hands,  both  grasp- 
ing the  paper,  shook  with  eagerness  as  he  read 
it. 

"What  is  it,  Messer  Alessandro!"  cried 
many  voices. 

"It  is  the  compact  between  Doria  and  Car- 
rara," said  one. 

"  It  is  a  bill  of  exchange,"  said  another  with 
a  laugh,  "  which  Messer  Alessandro  fears  that 
he  must  share  with  us." 

"  I  think,"  cries  another,  "  that  it  is  a  letter 
from  Messer  Alessandro's  mistress  to  the  Lord 
of  Padua." 

"  What  is  it,  man  1" 

"Would  that  I  had  not  found  it,"  he  said 
solemnly.  "  This  indeed  might  make  Venice 
rue  her  victory  ;  read  it,  Messer  Vendramini. 
The  proveditore  alone  should  read  it ;  and  read 
it  aloud,  sir,  that  none  may  doubt  hereafter 
what  it  is  which  we  have  found  in  this  accursed 
box." 

Vendramini  took  the  paper,  and  at  the  first 
vTord  a  frown  of  dismay  contracted  upon  his 
brow.  He  looked  around  him  uneasily,  like  a 
man  who  almost  fears  what  he  has  to  say  ;  and 
then  taking  breath  that  his  voice  might  be  heard, 
he  read  aloud  : — 

"  To  the  Most  Noble  Lord,  Messer  Francesco  da 
Carrara,  Lord  of  Padua. 
"  Excellent  Sir  and  most  dear  Friend — 

"I  have  received  from  your.secret  and  trusty 
messenger,  Messer  Jacopo  Arduino,  the  sum  of 
gold  which  you  entrusted  to  him  and  of  which 
he  has  given  me  the  full  weight ;  for  he  is  an 
honest  and  zealous,  though  a  very  poor  man. 
But  he  told  mc  that  you  had  well  paid  him  for 
the  service.  And,  indeed.,  I  know  that  you  are 
ever  generous,  not  less  to  those  who  are  poor 
and  little  worth  your  consideration,  than  to  those 
of  high  station  and  esteem.  I  am  happy  tliat  I 
could  serve  you  in  the  matter  wherein  you  have 
paid  me  by  this  gold ;  and  I  should  have  been 
pleased  still  to  serve  you,  though  you  had  not 
been  so  free  to  pay  me  my  due.  Ever  you  may 
count  upon  me  ;  and  while  I  may  seem  most 
your  foe,  and  most  eager  against  you  in  my 
place  among  the  Venetians,  my  countrymen, 
still  believe  that  you  have  no  servant  so  wil- 
ling to  your  command,  as 

"  Your  most  humble  and  loving  Friend, 
"  C.\RLo  Zeno." 

All  around  devoured  the  words  as  they  were 
read  by  the  proveditore  ;  every  eye  glancing  in 
dismay  at  Zeno,  who  stood  unmoved. 

When  Vendramini  had  finished,  Alessandro 
said,  in  a  loud  voice, 

"  This  then  is  the  plot  that  has  been  amongst 
us  —  this  the  hidden  treachery  of  which  so 
many  have  spoken.  We  have  the  other  traitor 
in  our  power,  that  trusty  messenger  that  took 
to  Messer  Zeno  the  gold  sent  by  the  enemy  of 
Venice.  It  was  Jacopo  Arduino;  it  was  the 
father  of  that  youth  that  is  now  before  us — the 
servant  of  Messer  Carlo  Zeno.  We  are  loo 
late  to  catch  the  chief  traitor,  and  we  know 
(for  Messer  Carlo  Zeno  has  told  us)  that  Ra- 
nieri Arduino  was  in  (;hio2za  but  two  nights 
since.     It  was  an  easy  way  for  Carrara  to  liy 


106 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


from  his  compact  with  the  Genoese,  now  that 
the  power  of  Venice  was  rising  to  crush  him. 
Oh  !  we  see  it  all,  Messer  Zeno  ;  for  no  traitor 
ever  yet  threatened  Venice,  but  his  treachery 
was  exposed,  and  brought  him  to  his  own  ruin. 
I  accuse  him  before  you  my  lords — before  Mes- 
ser Vendramini — you,  .Messer  Marco  Morisini 
— and  you,  Messer  Lionardo,  and  all  of  you — I 
accuse  Carlo  Zeno  of  treaciierous  conference 
with  Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara,  long  time 
ago,  when  this  gold  was  sent,  and  also  now, 
but  two  nights  ago,  when  the  son  of  ihai  same 
messenger  came  to  Chiozza  ;  and  my  evidence 
is  that  paper  in  the  proveditore's  hands.  I  ac- 
cuse him  before  the  state  ;  and  now  if  he 
escape,  be  not  mine  the  fault." 

"  Traitor  in  your  teeth,  Alessandro  da  Pado- 
ra  !"  cried  Sebastian  fiercely.  "  Look  me  in 
the  face,  man,  while  I  tell  to  these  nobles  that 
I  know  you  of  old  for  an  unblushing  traitor,  that 
has  sought  to  compass  the  ruin  of  Venice.  This 
IS  some  juggle.  Alessandro  had  brought  here 
ihe  paper  which  now  he  would  foist  upon  us." 

"  Aye,"  cried  Alessandro  with  a  loud  laugh, 
"traitors  are  ever  readiest  to  talk  of  treason. 
See  how  true  a  servant  Messer  Sebastiano  has 
been  to  the  general  that  would  have  betrayed 
Venice.  Ask  his  father,  the  noble  Marco  Moro- 
sini,  that  faithful  senator,  how  he  has  done  his 
duty  as  a  son-?  All  can  be  witness  that  I  took 
the  paper  from  the  box  which  we  found  here. 
I  ask  you  .Messer  Vendramini  if  you  saw  me 
not  !" 

The  proveditore  nodded. 

"  Why,  Messer- Zeno  dues  not  deny — he  has 
not  said  that  he  did  not  write  the  paper;  ask 
him  "' 

All  turned  to  the  general. 

"It  is  my  writing,"  he  said,  "and  at  the 
proper  time  I  will  say  wherefore  I  wrote  it.  But 
now,  since  tliis  gentleman  has  accused  me,  let 
the  matter  come  before  the  senate  and  the  Ten. 
It  has  ever  thus  been  my  fortune,  that  when 
most  I  have  triumphed,  then  some  sudden  blow 
has  struck  me.  And  it  may  be  that  Heaven 
never  gives  us  such  high  fortunes  (for  to  con- 
quer in  the  name  of  Venice  is  the  highest  for- 
tune that  can  befal  man)  without  some  great 
affliction,  lest  we  should  grow  too  proud  and 
think  that  it  is  we  who  have  done  it,  and  not 
our  blessed  Lord,  who  to  the  prayers  of  San 
Marco  vouchsafes  glory  and  safety  to  our  city. 
I  shall  not  escape  ;  but  let  me  be  guarded.  Be 
you  who  have  shared  with  me  my  victory,  my 
guards  ;  for  this  shall  be  the  favor  that  I  will 
ask  of  you,  that  I  shall  have  no  baser  guards 
than  those  whom  I  have  led  to  our  triumph." 

"  Let  others  then  be  guarded  too,"  said  Ales- 
sandro— "I  accuse  him,  that  boy  Ilanieri  Ardu- 
ino,  whose  traitor  father  is  already  in  our  pris- 
ons. And  you,"  continued  he  to  Edward — 
"  but  no ;  I  know  nothing  that  touches  you. 
You  have  been  the  close  companion  of  Messer 
Carlo  Zeno ;  but  you  maij  be  innocent,  and 
never  will  I  accuse  upon  mere  suspicion,  or 
stretch  accusal  to  make  it  fit  my  fancy  rather 
than  plain  knowledge." 

He  glaui-ed  at  Sebastian  for  an  instant  :  but 
his  eyes  quailed  at  the  steadfast  regard  that  met 
them.  Alessandro  looked  at  his  foster  brother ; 
and  Marco  Morosini  started  forward  Wearied 
with  seemg  ihe  lead  taken  by  others,  he  had 


worn  a  dull  and  listless  look,  which  even  Ihe 
heat  of  battle  had  not  quite  cleared  away.  But 
as  Alessandro's  accusation  went  on,  the  sena- 
tor awakened:  his  eyes  flashed  a  sterner  fire, 
and  a  gleam  of  fiercer  pleasure  dawned  upon 
his  face — 

"  Say  on,  Alessandro,"  he  said.  "  Spare 
not  me.  If  Venice  demands  it,  forget  our 
friendship  ;  for  I  see  that  you  have  more  to 
tell." 

"  I  obey ;  though  fain  would  I  spare  the  son 
for  the  father's  sake.  I  know  your  unparalleled 
audacity,  Sebastiano.  We  have  been  alone,  and  I 
well  know  that,  if  yon  had  your  wdl,  he  who 
refused  to  serve  your  treachery  would  be  the 
victim.  I  know  you;  but  bold  as  you  are,  I 
will  match  your  boldness.  Not  a  father's  just 
anger,  not  love  for  your  country,  nor  shame  be- 
fore him  you  would  have  tempted,  can  blanch 
your  matchless  insolence.  You  then,  also,  I 
accuse.  And  know,  my  lords,  that  in  secret 
converse,  under  cover  of  the  night,  this  bad, 
bold  young  man,  swearing  me  to  secrecy  before 
I  guessed  at  crime  so  horrible  in  one  so  young 
tempted  me  with  promises  of  power,  if  I  would 
join  a  dark  conspiracy  to  force  his  honored  fa- 
ther on  our  ducal  chair;  saying  forsooth  that 
Contarini  was  old  and  helpless  ;  and — but  I  will 
say  more  before  the  judges.  Let  them  not  es- 
cape. They  would  have  destroyed  us ;  but  we 
will  bring  them  to  justice,  and  God  defend  the 
right." 

"  Silence,  vile  blasphemer,"  cried  Sebastian.' 
"  Will  none  seize  the  traitor  ^  Is  it  not  enough 
that  here  in  the  moment  of  victory  he  thus  foully 
accuses  a  name,  the  very  sound  of  which  revived 
the  fortunes  of  Venice]  Will  not  one  of  you, 
lords,  seize  the  wretched  traitor  that  seeks  es- 
cape in  a  tale  so  extravagant  that  even  by 
crossing  the  threshold  the  dream  that  transfixes 
you  with  wonder  shall  be  dispelled." 

Alessandro  pointed,  with  a  smile,  to  the  pa- 
per in  Vendramini's  hand. 

"  I  told  you,"  said  Zeno  in  a  quiet  voice,  as 
he  laid  his  hand  upon  llanieri's  shoulder,  "that 
there  was  peril  and  risk  to  be  braved  ;  but  I  did 
not  think,  my  son,  that  we  should  share  so  high 
a  triumph,  and  then  presently  be  partners  in 
such  deep  distress.  But  I  fear  not ;  as  you  can 
face  danger,  so  I  see  by  your  steadfast  eye  that 
you  dread  not  accusal ;  I  fear  not  that  we  shall 
both  regain  our  honor." 

The  youth  could  not  answer,  but  taking  his 
fellow  prisoner's  hand,  he  pressed  it  fervently 
to  his  lips. 

Surrounding  the  ac.-jused  victors,  some  out  of 
respect,  some  with  eager  suspicion,  the  whole 
company  moved  to  leave  the  house  ;  and  in  a 
short  time  all  stood  upon  the  deck  of  a  galley, 
as  they  bore  the  conqueror  to  re-land  in  his  na- 
tive city,  a  prisoner  awaiting  judgment. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

The  place  of  St.  Mark  was  thronged,  the 
crowd  thickening  towards  the  water's  edge  in 
the  piazzetta.  Often  in  the  course  of  this  war 
have  we  thus  seen  the  heart  of  Venice  filled 
with  her  people,  but  how  were  they  altered 
since  they  were  summoned  by  the  knell  that 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


107 


sounded  the  captivity  of  Chiozza  !  then  they 
were  stout  of  limb,  ruddy  with  health,  but  full 
of  anger  and  fear;  now  faces  were  pale  and 
sharp  with  lasting,  and  many  a  stalwart  limb 
had  shrunk  to  a  sinewy  leanness,  that  betokened 
yet  feebler  estate  ;  but  hope  was  in  every  eye, 
and  lank  cheeks  began  to  round  their  outhne 
with  the  smde  of  gladness.  Each  day  had 
brought  tidings  across  the  lagoon  of  losing  for- 
tunes for  the  Genoese.  Zeno's  attack  on  Chi- 
ozza had  already  got  wind  ;  and  now  all  eyes 
were  strained  to  catch  tlie  lirst  sight  of  the  boat 
bringing  news  of  triumpli,  as  it  should  enter 
llie  canal  between  the  island  of  St.  George,  and 
the  Giudecca.  A  shout  I  some  few  saw  a  boat 
between  the  buildings:  it  passed  them  —  it 
crossed  into  the  grand  canal,  the  crew  wav- 
ing their  hands,  their  caps,  a  sword,  or  a  bow  ; 
— they  cried  out  incessantly  ;  and  at  last  their 
words  grew  into  shape — "  Zeno  has  conquered  ! 
Chiozza  is  taken!"  In  the  piazzeta  they  ech- 
oed, "  Zeno  has  conquered  !  Chiozza  is  taken  !" 
— tliey  echoed  it  in  the  great  square  —  and 
apace  the  roar  of  triumph  spread  abroad  into 
the  city.  The  boat's  crew  landed,  and  anon 
every  man  of  them  was  seized  and  passed  from 
iiand  to  hand  to  recount  the  battle  and  the  vic- 
tory. Presently  came  another  boat  —  after- 
wards another ;  and  soon  many  that  flocked 
from  Chiozza,  in  the  race  to  bear  the  tidings, 
announced  the  approach  of  Zeno's  galley. 
Again  tlie  joyful  tumult  subsided  in  the  lixed 
altitude  of  expectation  :  a  galley  is  seen  in  the 
canal  beyond — it  passes  between  the  buildings 
—it  comes  across  the  grand  canal :  'tis  he  ! — 
Zeno  stands  on  the  deck,  a  well-known  circle 
round  him  ;  he  lands  ;  and  shouts,  which  make 
the  arches  of  the  ducal  palace  ring  again  like 
bells,  welcome  the  hero  that  brings  back  to  Ve- 
nice the  gifts  of  his  prowess.  Tenedos  and  her 
own  Chiozza, — tokens  of  the  march  of  her  pow- 
er in  the  east,  of  Genoa's  repulse  on  the  Italian 
waters.  Amid  shouting  of  voices,  Zeno  stood 
and  looked  around.  He  spoke  not — he  might  as 
well  have  whispered  in  the  storm ;  but  he  laugh- 
ed pleasantly,  and  then,  at  the  sight  of  that  fa- 
miliar ani  ever-trusted  face,  thus  in  its  loving 
joy  a  mirror  of  the  bright  fortune  which  it  had 
brought  to  Venice,  up  rose  a  louder  swell  of  exul- 
ting welcome.  Zeno  turned  his  eyes  on  his  com- 
panions. A  circle  close  around  liim  answered 
his  look  in  beaming  eyes,  that  joyed  in  his  tri- 
umph less  because  they  shared  it  than  because 
it  was  his.  Beyond  them  were  some  few  that 
looked  askance,  distrustful  how  he  might  act — 
obey  his  doom,  and  submit  to  their  vengeance  ; 
or  turn  against  them  tlie  ready  tumult  of  the 
Venetian  populace.  He  whispered  a  few  words 
to  Sebastian.  Thus,  amid  the  storm  of  greet- 
ing, he  landed,  and,  still  guarded  by  his  friends 
and  foes,  entered  the  ducal  palace. 

It  was  like  passing  from  the  tempest  of  the 
open  sea,  into  the  sale,  silent  waters  of  the  har- 
bor, to  enter  the  tranquil  hall  where  sat  the 
senate,  awaiting  in  solemn  repose  the  arrival 
of  the  conqueror.  Carlo  Zeno  took  his  station 
before  the  doge,  and  baring  his  liead,  he  said 
in  a  clear  and  loud  voice, — "  Most  illustrious 
prince  and  most  excellent  fathers,  it  has  been 
vouchsafed  to  me,  by  the  mercy  of  heaven,  to 
declare  to  you,  that  Chiozza  again  belongs  to 
Venice,  and  that  there  are  in  the  waters  of  our 


lagoon,  no  strangers  except  our  good  allies  and 
our  prisoners.  For  the  unhappy  Genoese,  who 
have  been  more  audacious,  but  not  more  crim- 
inal than  those  who  have  attained  safety  in  a 
hardy  and  difficult  flight,  I  have  been  bo.d 
enough  to  promise  the  clemency  of  the  repub- 
lic ;  and  the  only  guerdon  that  I  venture  to  ask 
for  myself,  is,  that  the  last  pang  of  tliis  most 
signal  war  may  have  been  struck  by  that  rush 
o(  triumph  that  bore  the  standard  of  St.  Mark 
into  Chicizza.  Of  others  whose  great  daring 
and  cunning  wisdom  helped  me  to  that  victory, 
1  will  speak  when  the  senate  shall  give  me 
leave  to  recount  the  story  of  this  long  battle." 
The  doge  was  about  to  rise,  but  Zeno  interrup- 
ted him,  "  Pardon,  most  excellent  lord, — but 
before  you  make  that  answer  to  my  tidings 
which  your  generous  motions  would  dictate, 
you  have  yet  more  to  hear,  for  this  tale  has  a 
most  strange  serjuel,  as  others  will  unfold.  I 
pray  you  hear  the  rest." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  doge  looked  from 
one  to  the  other,  expecting  that  the  next  to 
speak  should  show  himself.  Zeno's  friends 
turned  to  Alessandro  da  Padova,  but  he  stirred 
not ;  and  at  length  Contarini  asked,  "  Who  is 
it  that  would  address  the  senate  1" 

'•  .Marco  Morosini,"  said  the  senator  himself, 
stepping  forward  from  the  group  behind  Zeno. 
"  The  task  is  mine,  since  none  other  will  un- 
dertake it."  He  spoke  firmly  and  cheerfully  ; 
his  face  was  less  pale  than  usual,  and  less 
stern ;  and  his  words  flowed  from  his  lips 
with  a  freer  confidence.  "I  accuse  Carlo 
Zeno  of  treachery." 

Had  the  earth  gaped  beneath  their  feet,  the 
senators  could  not  have  started  more.  A  sharp 
buzz  ran  through  the  hall,  but  it  was  stilled  at 
once,  in  the  self-stifled  eagernesss  to  hear. 
Zeno  and  his  friends  alone  were  uiimoved  ia 
aspect. 

Contarini's  venerable  face  flushed  so  red  that 
his  beard  and  hair  showed  a  more  snowy  white, 
and  he  started  eagerly  from  his  seat ;  but,  sud- 
denly recollecting  himself,  he  said  in  a  calm 
voice, — "  This  is  a  most  strange  charge  indeed, 
Messer  Morosini.  Say  on ;  for  till  we  hear 
more  we  are  lost  in  wonder.     Say  on." 

"  Truly,  most  excellent  prince,  it  is  most 
strange  ;  but,  alas  !  most  true.  I  accuse  Carlo 
Zeno  of  treachery.  I  accuse  him  of  a  secret 
alliance  with  Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara, 
the  Lord  of  Padova;  of  having  been  paid  in 
gold  by  the  said  Messer  Francesco,  for  secret 
services  rendered  against  the  safety  of  Venice. 
I  can  lay  before  the  senate  the  receipt  of  the 
said  Carlo  Zeno  for  the  gold  thus  traitorously 
paid  ;  I  will  produce  from  the  prisons  of  the 
republic  the  messenger  that  carried  that  gold — 
a  wretch  already  known  in  Venice  lor  the 
crimes  that  taint  him  and  his  blood  ;  with  other 
proofs  that  may  make  us  marvel,  but  not  doubt 
the  devilry  that  lias  turned  our  puissant  soldier 
into  the  most  dangerous  of  tlie  traitors  with 
which  Venice  is  accursed.  That  is  my  cliarge  ; 
and  with  all  speed  I  will  submit  ample  proof 
thereof  before  the  senate,  or  before  the  signory, 
or  the  Ten,  as  may  seem  most  meet." 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  none  knowing 
what  to  say  or  think  at  so  monstrous  an  event 
in  the  hour  of  triumph. 

"  Wliat  say  you,  Messer  Zeno  !"  asked  Con- 


108 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


tarini,  in  a  cheerful  and  confident  voice  ;  "  is 
this  accusation  true  or  false!" 

"It  is,  my  lord,  most  false.  Messer  Moro- 
sini  has  been  cozened  ;  for  no  noble  of  Venice 
could  be  the  deviser  of  this  villany,  except  he 
were  bewitched.  Let  me  know  this  charge, 
li't  me  have  time,  and  I  also  will  have  proofs 
aiid  witnesses  ;  for  I  do  partly  know  or  guess 
the  authors  of  this  stratagem  to  destroy  me, 
for  that  I  am  the  faithful  servant  of  Venice." 

"  Be  it  so  :  both  sides  shall  bring  their  proofs  ; 
'or  until  we  have  proofs,  the  charge  is  merely 
incredible.  We  will  not  stay  you,  Messer  Zeno, 
from  the  embraces  of  your  family ;  but  when 
this  matter  is  done  with,  Venice  will  know  how 
to  acknowledge  the  services  which  she  can  re- 
cord, but  cannot  repay." 

Alessandro  whispered  to  his  foster  brother, 
and  Morosini  again  spoke.  "  Messer  Zeno  will 
pardon  me,  but  it  is  not  safe  for  the  republic 
that  those  so  gravely  charged  should  walk  free 
and  unrestrained  in  our  streets.' 

Contarini  threw  himself  back  in  his  seat,  be- 
wildered and  disgusted  at  the  odious  office  to 
be  thrust  upon  him  ;  and  he  traversed  the  as- 
sembly with  his  eyes  in  search  of  counsel ;  but 
none  offered.  All  were  dismayed,  and  sat  as 
if  in  a  dream. 

"Why  this,"  cried  Zeno,  "  is  more  paltry  than 
the  rest ;  but  if  the  laws  cannot  be  satisfied  with- 
out the  custody  of  this  poor  person,  it  is  theirs." 

"  Take  heed,  most  noble  fathers,"  cried  Al- 
bert!, suddenly  rising;  "lest  we  bring  a  new 
danger  upon  us  by  our  own  folly  and  crime. 
Who  amongst  us,  not  spell-stricken  by  envy, 
l>elieves  this  charge  against  our  deliverer  1 
What  if  there  be  proofs,  as  we  are  vainly  prom- 
ised 1  Can  one  man  collect  such  proof  as 
would  gainsay  that  evidence  which  we  already 
possess  ! — there  it  stands — Carlo  Zeno  himself, 
and  his  whole  life.  If  my  very  eyes  saw  him, 
here  sword  in  hand,  striking  down  our  venera- 
ble doge,  should  I  not  believe  rather  that  my 
eyes  were  sick  and  my  brain  mad,  than  that  so 
monstrous  a  sight  were  true  ]  To  believe 
these  hideous  fables,  because  men  can  muster 
what  they  call  proofs — proofs  well  enough,  per- 
chance, to  i)rove  common  things — is  to  over- 
turn all  belief:  we  can  have  strong  faith  in 
nothing,  if  the  first  aspect  of  some  riddle  is  to 
take  our  faith  captive  to  follow  it  from  the 
straight  path.  But,  I  say,  it  is  not  safe  to  mis- 
trust our  own  better  faith  :  the  people  do  not 
follow  these  nice  and  fantastic  sophistries  ; 
they  take  the  common  wisdom,  the  broad  faith, 
the  belief  that  masters  the  heart  and  instincts 
and  love  of  men  ;  they  look  to  the  life  of  Zeno 
— they  will  believe  in  that  until  you  bring 
them  equal  proof — another  life — until  Zeno 
shall  have  lived  a  second  bad  life  to  disprove 
the  first.  I  say  it  is  not  safe  to  disappoint 
their  faith.  Already — for  they  have  heard  al- 
ready that  now  we  sit  in  judgment  on  our  de- 
liverer,—  already  they  murmur.  The  people 
ask,  where  is  his  triumpii  and  his  guerdon — they 
ask,  is  it  true  that  he,  the  conquerer,  is  a  pris- 
oner accused  !  They  call  for  him,  that  they 
may  see  him  free.  Am  I  disbelieved  1  let  any 
of  you  go  forth,  and  see  if  it  be  safe  to  carry 
the  reconquerer  of  Chiozza  this  day  to  prison. 
There  is  treachery  in  Venice,  and  truly  the 
self-same  treachery  that  has  planned  this  accu- 


sation— aye,  treachery — I  read  it  in  the  very 
act  01  accusing  with  ready  faith  so  good  and 
great  a  man — that  self-same  treachery,  if  you 
do  gratify  it,  will  find  such  opportunity  in  the 
storm  you  rouse,  that  some  other  hideous 
crime  will  spring  up  and  flourish.  Go  forth, 
and  see  if  the  joy  of  the  people  be  not  changing 
to  a  fierce  and  anxious  cry  for  Zeno.  It  is  not 
safe,  I  say  to  imprison  him — it  is  not  wise,  it 
is  not  virtuous.  Let  us  not  do  it.  If  there  be 
charges  to  be  brought  let  those  that  choose — 
that  dare  —  bring  those  charges,  with  their 
proofs ;  and  when  we  see  those  proofs,  if  they 
be  strong,  let  us  then  begin  to  believe  ;  but  until 
that  be  done,  let  us  not  turn  aside  from  our 
great  content  this  day  to  sit  and  ponder  idle 
calumnies  ;  as  if  the  bad  dreams  of  the  guilty, 
were  of  equal  account  with  the  great  deeds  of 
the  good  and  mighty,  that  we  should  put  them 
in  the  scale  and  solemnly  watch  for  the  turning 
of  the  balance  \  Let  us  not  finish  off  this  great 
triumph  with  a  foolish  and  bitter  jest." 

There  was  a  swelling  murmur  of  approval, 
and  many  essayed  to  speak,  and  then  each 
gave  way  to  the  rest.  As  they  gradually  sat 
down,  one  remained  standing  ;  it  was  Ven- 
dramini,  who  had  moved  from  among  the  of- 
ficers  of  the  army,  and  had  taken  his  place. 

"  Not  one  of  you,  most  excellent  fathers," 
said  the  proveditore,  "  is  more  disposed  to  be- 
friend Messer  Carlo  Zeno  than  I  am  ;  and  yet 
I  do  in  some  sort  hold  myself  answerable  for 
the  safe  keeping  of  him  as  an  accused  prisoner  ; 
since  with  my  own  eyes  I  have  seen  that  which 
could  not  have  been  devised  beforehand,  giving 
in  some  sort  proof  to  this  charge  ;  he  was  ac- 
cused before  me  ;  to  me  was  he  given  as  pris- 
oner :  and  I  claim  at  least  the  declared  license 
of  the  senate  to  be  released  from  my  office 
before  he  is  allowed  to  go." 

There  was  again  a  rising  murmur,  when 
Barbarigo  stood  up,  saying — "  Messer  Ven- 
dramini  says  truly  :  this  is  not  a  matter  to  be 
dismissed  thus  hurriedly  ;  and  it  were  better 
for  the  honor  and  dignity  of  Messer  Zeno  him- 
self that  we  should  proceed  carefully  and  re- 
gularly on  without  these  hasty  fi^lics,  as 
though  we  took  example  by  the  mad  populace." 

The  discretion  of  the  respectable  Vendra- 
mini  had  cast  a  chill  upon  the  asseml)ly.  Lion- 
ardo  Morosini  was  moving  to  speak,  when 
Albert!  started  to  his  feet  before  him. 

"  Say  that,  profiting  by  our  trust,  being  really 
guilty,  but  set  free,  Messer  Zeno  were  to  fly — 
what  would  that  be  but  exile  for  evermore !  and 
what  punishment  so  great  as  degradation  or 
exile  could  strike  so  great  a  criminal  !  Is  it 
death  ?  If  you  think  so,  bare  that  majes- 
tic form,  and  ask  of  the  scars  that  fret  the 
walls  around  Carlo  Zeno's  heart,  what  dread  of 
death  lurks  within.  Let  him  be  free  ;  and  if 
he  is  guilty,  let  the  trust  of  Venice  be  the  mon- 
ument of  her  generosity  and  the  reward  of 
those  great  services  which,  done  before  the 
world,  cannot  be  doubted.  That  is  what  I  say ; 
and  if  you,  illustrious  senators,  think  with  me, 
be  not  silent  at  this  moment  when  our  honor 
stands  at  stake  ;  make  my  poor  voice  strong 
with  your  loud  assent." 

Uprose  at  that  appeal  many  a  senator,  then 
more,  and  more,  and  more  again,  with  loud 
mingling  of  voices. 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


109 


Contarini  also  arose,  and,  lifting  up  both  his 
hands,  he  looked  around  :  all  was  silence,  as 
he  said,  "  I  learn  from  your  gestures,  and  the 
tone  of  your  voices,  most  noble  sirs,  that  Mes- 
ser  Albert!  has  spoken  your  will." 

"Aye,  aye." 

"  A  will  worthy  of  this  assembly  !  I  do  then 
speak  your  pleasure — Messer  Zeno,  you  are 
free.  Venice  receives  with  gratitude  the  great 
gifts  you  bring  to  her  ;  but  the  first  of  all  re- 
wards for  the  victor  awaits  you,  the  needful 
repose  in  the  arms  of  your  family.  More  at 
leisure,  we  will  accept  the  account  of  your  ser- 
vices and  your  victories,  and  rest  assured  that 
your  just  pledges  shall  bo  fulfilled." 

Carlo  Zeno  bowed,  and  was  about  to  retire, 
when  Marco  Morosini,  listener  to  frequent  angry 
whispers  from  his  foster  brother,  again  stepped 
forward: — '*If  it  be  the  pleasure  of  the  senate 
that,  on  the  faith  of  those  brave  deeds  which 
are  strangly  mingled  in  man's  life  with  the 
wickedness  permitted  by  the  Heavenly  will, 
there  are  others  not  less  criminal  who  have  not 
such  claim  for  dangerous  indulgence. — I  accuse 
that  youth  who  stands  by  Messer  Zeno — his 
name  is  Ranieri  Arduino — him  I  accuse  of  hold- 
ing secret  and  treasonable  conference  with  the 
Lord  of  Padua,  in  Chiozza,  but  two  days  since, 
if  I  mistake  not :  know  that  he  is  the  son  of 
that  man  who  bore  from  Francesco  da  Carrara 
the  gold  which  was  paid  to  Carlo  Zeno^goid 
which  Carlo  Zeno  acknowledges  to  have  been 
paid  in  this  letter  which  I  here  hold — one  of  the 
proofs  that  do  so  pleasantly  amuse  Messer 
Albert!." 

Here  was  a  loud  shout ;  but  Morosini  angrily 
continued :  "  Nay,  I  gainsay  not  the  pleasure 
of  the  senate,  that  Messer  Zeno  should  go 
home  to  bestow  tlwit  gold  in  safety" — anotiier 
shout — "  but  let  not  all  our  criminals  think  to 
escape  :  let  not  the  spy  and  servant  of  da  Car- 
rara, Ranieri  Arduino,  go  loose  about  our 
streets.  Another  whom  I  accuse  stands  next 
to  him — Sebastiano  Morosini." 

There  was  a  sudden  move,  and  a  short  hasty 
murmur  ran  throughout  the  assembled  senate. 
The  doge  cried, — "Your  son  !" 

"  My  son,  unhappily  my  son  !  but  thanks  be 
to  our  Lord  and  to  St.  Mark,  Marco  Morosini, 
not  a  harsh  or  unloving  father,  is  more  Venetian 
than  father ;  and  alas  !  that  unhappy  youth  is 
little  of  a  son,  less  of  a  Venetian.  He  is  leagued 
with  that  boy,  younger  in  years,  but  older  in 
vice,  to  betray  the  republic.  I  have  done  my 
duty — let  them  be  secured." 

"  Since  I  am  free,"  cried  Carlo  Zeno,  speaking 
before  the  doge  could  answer,  "  let  me  once 
more  be  heard  m  tins  senate,  from  which  I  have 
been  so  long  absent.  Know,  then,  most  excel- 
lent fathers,  that  of  all  the  servants  Venice  has, 
none  is  more  faithful  than  tliese  two,  with  my- 
self accused  before  you.  Of  Messer  Sebastiano 
Morosini,  whom  in  some  strange  madness  his 
father  hates,  and  accuses  to  destroy,  I  cannot, 
without  long  delays,  recount  ail  the  high  ser- 
vices ;  for  to  his  discretion,  to  his  zeal,  and  to 
his  skill  and  courage  do  we  in  great  part  owe 
it  that  our  troops  were  able  to  preserve  their 
faith,  that  the  conspiracy  of  Roberto  da  Reca- 
nati  was  defeated,  and  that  we  could  turn  that 
perilous  conspiracy  to  our  use  in  making  a  path 
into  Chiozza.     But  to  this  vouth,"  cried  Zeno, 


laying  his  hand  on  Ranieri's  shoulder, — "  yotng 
as  he  looks — he  is  yet  younger  than  his  tall 
limbs  and  steadfast  countenance  would  let  you 
think — to  this  boy  do  we  owe  that  we  have  en- 
tered Chiozza,  and  that  this  day  it  is  ours. 
With  a  ready  cunning  that  outstepped  the  les- 
sons I  taught,  with  secrecy  equal  to  any  here  in 
the  dread  Council  of  Ten — be  it  said  without 
offence — and  braving  death,  he  it  was  that  shap- 
ed and  opened  our  way  into  the  town  ;  and  the 
way  being  open,  this  young  form  was  the  first 
that  pushed  in  among  the  Genoese,  piercing 
the  wall  of  their  closed  ranks  with  the  swift- 
ness of  his  rush,  and  finding  safety  in  the  very 
daring  and  desperation  of  his  courage  that  made 
him  meettlie  danger  faster  ihan  it  would  come, 
so  that  the  blow  ever  fell  behind  his  onward 
course.  To  put  these  two  in  your  prisons  and 
leave  me  free,  were  to  send  my  body  abroad, 
and  imprison  my  honor  and  victory.  If  it  so 
please  you  that  these  must  be  prisoners  out  of 
this  trium.ph,  let  me  also  keep  my  rank  and  be 
the  chief;  for  to  be  the  chief  of  such  as  these, 
wheresoever  they  are,  is  the  highest  honor  for 
me.  I  cannot  go  free  without  them ;  and  if 
these  mad  charges  can  outlive  the  fancy  of  the 
moment,  think  not  that  we  shall  fly  them.  I 
will  be  surety  for  these  two  my  friends  ;  and  if 
you  doubt  my  word, — who  here  will  be  surety 
for  mcV 

Albert!  rose,  but  scarcely  before  many  others  ; 
ere  they  were  well  standing,  more  followed 
their  example  ;  and  but  few,  save  Lionardo  Mo- 
rosini, Barbarigo,  and  the  secret  friends  ol 
Alessandro,  remained  sitting. 

"  I  see,"  said  Zeno,  "  monsignore,  the  senate 
will  be  surety  for  us." 

"  Be  it  so,"  replied  Contarini ;  "  this  charge 
against  your  officers  is  the  same  as  that  against 
yourself.  Messer  Zeno,  happiness  attend  your 
welcome  home !" 

Zeno  bowed,  and,  still  keeping  his  hand  on 
Ranieri's  shoulder,  he  walked  forth  from  the 
hall,  attended  by  Sebastian,  Cooke,  Edward, 
and  others  of  his  friends  ;  while  many  of  the 
senators,  leaving  their  places,  followed  to  do 
him  honor  by  bearing  him  company  to  this  house. 
As  he  appeared  in  the  place  of  St.  Mark,  the 
people  raised  a  great  shout  to  see  him  free  ;  and 
they  too  followed  as  he  went,  so  that  to  d'o  them 
pleasure,  as  it  was  his  wont  not  to  thwart  the 
harmless  humor  of  the  moment,  he  went  all  the 
way  on  foot ;  the  crowd  forming  a  rude  pro- 
cession, which  lined  the  sides  of  the  canals,  and 
filled  a  fleet  of  boats  on  the  water,  often  sepa- 
rating and  rejoining  again  in  making  turns  down 
divers  streets.  At  length  they  came  to  Ztno's 
palace,  and  his  followers  took  their  leave,  that 
lie  might  not  be  incommoded  on  first  returning 
to  his  home.  Only  his  nearest  friends  and  coiii- 
I)anions  entered  with  him.  In  the  hall  stood  a 
noble  dame,  dressed  all  in  black  velvet,  which 
well  became  her  full  and  matronly  form.  Her 
face  denoted  a  ripe  age,  yet  was  it  round  and 
fresh  and  comely.  Her  eyes  were  grave,  and 
on  her  checks  was  a  deep  flush,  which  turned  to 
pale  as  her  noble  lord  entered.  Zeno  took  her 
in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  fondly,  and  when  she 
hid  her  face  far  in  his  neck,  and  her  brave  body 
shook  with  sobs,  ho  went  on  kissing  her  shoulder 
as  though  forgetting  the  eyes  that  watched  them. 
None  turned  away  at  the  sacied  sight,  vet  the 


110 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


look  of  none  could  offend.  At  length,  lifting  her 
gently  away  to  look  in  her  face,  Zeno  cried, — 
"^  The  sight  of  thee,  Caterina,  makes  me  young 
again  ;  and  truly  am  I  deceived  ;  for  years  have 
gone  on,  and  ever  when  I  come  back  I  find  thee 
as  fair,  as  tender,  as  blushing  as  the  dear  girl  I 
wedded." 

"  And  you  have  returned.  Carlo,  and  in  health 
and  victory — and  yet  accused  !" 

"  What  !  you  have  heard  1  Know  you  not, 
that  to  be  successful  is  ever  to  be  envied,  and 
to  be  envied  accused  ?  It  is  one  of  our  honors, 
and  is  well  shared.  But  we  are  weak,  my  life, 
with  our  voyage  and  with  talking  against  our 
foes ;  and  these  my  good  friends,  companions 
in  battle,  in  victory,  and  in  calumny,  must  be 
companions  too  in  this  our  home  and  in  our 
hospitality.  Show  you  the  way,  for  I  have  for- 
gotten my  ov/n  house." 


CHAPTER  L. 

Not  long  after  they  had  entered,  Ranieri 
drew  Sebastian  aside.  "  Is  it  not  true,"  he 
said,  "  that  Zeno  is  the  kindest  as  well  as 
greatest  of  men  ;  for  certes  while  busy  in  affairs 
of  slate  he  thinks  of  the  affairs  of  each  one 
amongst  us,  as  if  they  alone  filled  all  his 
thoughts.  But  now  he  called  me  apart  and 
said,  '  I  can  see,  my  boy,  that  you  do  not  eat 
because  your  will  is  elsewhere.  Go :  bring 
your  sister  here,  for  nowhere  will  she  be  so 
safe  as  with  Madonna  Caterina  ;  and  as  soon  as 
Venice  has  settled  herself  after  this  turmoil, 
we  will  have  your  father  out  of  prison  where 
he  has  put  himself  I  was  wrong,'  Zeno  said, 
'  to  leave  him  so  long  to  run  after  his  bad  for- 
tunes. But  bring  your  sister  straightway  to 
tiiis  her  home  and  yours.'  Truly  has  the  ill 
fortunes  of  our  house  begun  to  turn.  But  I 
scarce  can  tell  where  you,  Sebastian,  have  be- 
stowed my  sister,  and  you  must  be  my  guide." 

''  How  willingly  !  I  did  already  pray  her  to 
let  me  lead  her  to  this  house,  knowing  the 
noble  generosity  of  those  that  own  it ;  but  now 
that  Zeno"s  self  sends  you  to  fetch  her,  she  will 
not  refuse." 

In  a 'few  moments,  the  two  youths  were  in 
a  boat  darting  towards  Canareggio,  along  the 
canals  now  growing  dark  with  night ;  and  but 
few  more  saw  them  at  the  door  of  Pierolto  the 
fisherman's  house.  They  knocked,  but  no  one 
answered.  Gently  pushing  the  door,  Sebastian 
found  tiiat  it  was  already  open.  The  room  in 
which  they  were  was  almost  dark,  so  that  they 
could  ill  see  the  scanty  furniture  in  it. 

Not  far  from  the  door  lay  something  long  and 
moveless.  Tightly  grasping  Ranieri's  arm, 
Sebastian  pointed  to  it  in  silence.  They  stoop- 
ed over  it ;  it  wa«  a  man — the  aged  fisher- 
man, cold  and  stiff  in  death.  On  his  head 
might  dimly  be  seen  in  the  fading  light  two 
fearful  gashes ;  one  that  severed  his  skull  al- 
most to  the  eyes,  and  dabbled  his  silver  locks 
in  gore,  now  hardened  in  a  dark  crust.  Leav- 
ing the  body,  Sebastian  led  the  way  to  an  inner 
room  ;  it  was  silent  and  deserted.  They  went 
up  a  flight  of  stairs;  but  nothing  was  heard 
save  the  echo  of  their  steps.  Still  without 
speaking,  for  he  knew  that  one  only  thought 


I  filled  both  their  minds,  Sebastian  again  more 

I  closely  looked  through  the  whole  house,  within 

j  the  bed  once  warmed  by  the  dear  form  they 

!  sought,  but  now  cold  that  dreary  night — under 

the   table,  behind  every  door.     All   was  still. 

Hastily  repassing   the  dead  body,   Sebastian, 

followed  by  Ranieri,  left  the  house,  and  entered 

Rosa's,  hard  by. 

Hearing  them  as  they  opened  the  door,  she 
came  forth  from  an  inner  room,  with  a  lamp  in 
her  hand. 

"Rosa,"  cried  Sebastian,  "where  is  Te- 
resa?" 

"At  her  home.  Know  you  not  the  wayl  I 
will  show  it  you,  for  I  was  going  but  now." 

"  Nay,  we  came  from  it,  but  she  is  not  there. 
The  dangpi  im.  nought  her,  Rosa ;  there  has 
been  mischiet  m  Pierotto's  house  ;  for  Teresa 
has  gone,  and  the  poor  old  man  lies  dead  and 
murdered." 

Rosa  sent  that  sharp  searching  look  into 
Sebastian's  face  which  they  do  who  hear  news 
that  they  dare  not  believe  ;  and  then,  without 
stopping,  she  rushed  forth.  The  light  she  bore 
was  blown  out  at  the  first  breath  of  wind  ;  but 
not  staying  for  another,  she  threw  the  lamp 
back  into  her  house,  and  ran  to  her  dead  neigh- 
bor's, followed  by  the  two  youths. 

Again  they  searched  the  house  through,  its 
blank  silence  striking  more  drear  from  the 
waxing  darkness  of  the  night.  Again  they 
stood  by  the  dead  body. 

"  See,"  whispered  Sebastian,  "  the  head  is 
towards  the  door  :  his  slayers  struck  him  down 
while  he  barred  their  issue.  The  Ten  should 
know  of  this." 

"  Not  through  us,"  exclaimed  the  girl ;  "  they 
will  know  of  its  perforce,  but  let  us  not  help 
them." 

"  Know  you  then,"  asked  Sebastian  sternly, 
"  who  hath  done  this  crime  V 

"  Alas  !  no  ;  but  I  can  guess  not  far  off. 
Teresa  had,  as  I  think,  but  one  enemy,  and 
that  for  your  sake,  Sebastian.  The  Ten  may 
find  that  a  man  has  been  killed,  and  may  dis- 
cover the  real  murderer;  but  that  one  enemy 
that  paid  the  murderer,  and  possesses  the  se- 
cret, has  defied  the  Ten,  and  can  ever  do  so. 
Him  I  can  reach  ;  and  I  here  promise  you  that 
I  will  answer  and  restore  the  dear  lady,  oi  I 
will  die.  Alas  !  Sebastian,  see  how  faithfu 
old  Pierotto  has  thrown  down  the  sweet  re- 
mainder of  his  harmless  life  to  stay  the  path  of 
her  ravishers — not  to  conquer  them,  poor  weak 
old  man !  but  to  be  in  his  willing  death  a  wit- 
ness, and  a  gage  of  love  and  faith  to  solace  her 
misery :  and  if  he  so  loved  that  gentle  lady, 
how  must  we  to  whom  she  was  the  life  and  the 
hope  !"  Kneehng  down,  Rosa  bent  ov«r  the 
body,  and  hiding  her  face  in  both  her  hands, 
she  wept. 

If  for  a  moment  he  had  doubted,  less  Rosa's 
faith  than  her  ill  conipanionhood,  Sebastian 
doubted  no  longer.  He  stooped  to  raise  her 
from  the  ground  ;  but  still  kneeling,  she  claspeu 
his  hand,  and,  with  bitter  sobs  asked  him  to 
forgive  her. 

"  For,  what,- Rosa  r' 

"  For  that  I,  marked  out  for  misery  by  my 
sins,  dare  to  think  that  I  could  serve  one  so  ex 
cellent,  and  have  dragged  upon  her  dear  head 
the  ruin  that  I  alone  deserved.   Dearladv  !  she 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


Ill 


held  out  to  me  a  hand  from  heaven,  and  I  have 
seized  it  to  drag  her  down  among  these  infernal 
devilries." 

"  Speak  not  so,  Rosa,  but  still  hold  fast  by  the 
love  and  hope  she  brought  us  ;  and  rather  think 
that  now  in  you  alone  is  the  hope  of  me  and  of 
this  her  brother.  I  believe  you,  and  that  you 
alone  can  reach  that  enemy — the  enemy  of  all 
that  is  good  in  Venice.  Let  us  but  know  where 
she  is,  and  presently  no  power  in  tlie  city  shall 
hold  her  back  from  our  grasp." 

"  I  promise  you,"  she  said,  in  a  firmer  voice, 
rising:  "the  night  will  not  last  long,  and  be 
times  I  will  seek  him.  Leave  we  this  door 
open,  that  the  early  passengers  may  see  the 
the  body,  and  take  order  for  paying  its  just 
honors.  Hasten  away,  that  none  may  see  you. 
Farewell."  She  parted  from  them  as  they 
went  forth  into  the  open  air  ;  and  the  two 
ft-iends  left  the  place  on  foot,  that  none  might 
so  readily  mark  their  presence  near  the  house 
of  the  murdered  man. 


CHAPTER  LL 


From  the  moment  of  the  return  to  Zeno's 
house,  Edward  had  cast  about  in  his  own  mind 
to  devise  the  means  of  once  more  speaking 
with  his  mistress,  who  had  remained  unseen 
since  the  conference  before  his  departure  for 
Tenedos.  Ever  since  he  had  come  back  from 
that  enterprise,  his  patience  had  been  tried  to 
forbear  a  new  attempt  to  gain  audience  of  the 
lady ;  but  from  day  to  day  Venice  had  been 
fighting  for  life  or  victory,  and  his  conscience 
would  not  let  him  be  spared  from  ever  hasty 
service.  Now,  there  was  a  lull  after  that  long 
storm  ;  and  the  loud  voice  of  his  impatience, 
better  heard,  quite  mastered  him ;  so  that, 
thinking  of  no  other  way,  he  resolved  to  make 
known  his  bold  and  little  hopeful  love  to  Sebas- 
tian ;  which  hitherto  he  had  not  done,  because 
he  feared  to  bring  some  new  trouble  on  his 
friend.  Now,  even  that  thought  gave  way  be- 
fore his  eagerness.  But  when  he  had  come  to 
that  resolve,  in  vain  he  sought  him  whom  he 
wanted  ;  for  Sebastian  had  already  been  carried 
away  by  Ranieri.  After  traversing  every  part 
where  he  thought  his  search  might  be  gratified, 
and  being  at  last  assured  that,  through  some 
anxiety  for  Teresa,  the  two  had  gone,  Edward 
wandered  out  of  doors  and  towards  the  Morosini 
palace,  uncertain  what  to  do  ;  but  hoping  that 
chance  might  favor  his  intent.  The  day  was 
already  darkening,  when  he  passed  the  church 
of  St.  Stephen  ;  but  he  came  even  to  the  door 
(which  was  closed,  for  the  night  was  chill  and 
gusty)  without  descrying  any  hope  of  making 
his  way,  e.xccpt  by  entering  in  at  once  ;  and 
that  he  feared  to  do,  knowing  that  his  enemies 
had  returned  to  the  house  and  were  astir.  He 
trod  back  upon  his  stops,  and  then  again  ap- 
proached the  door  many  times  ;  and  still  it 
showed  the  same  unmoved  and  sullen  front,  as 
if  mocking  his  mingled  wdl  and  fear  to  attempt 
an  entrance.  After  .some  time,  as  he  loitered 
about,  he  was  aware  that  a  man  wlio  stood  near 
to  tlie  Iioiise  was  watching  him.  He  was 
somewhat  angered  at  being  thus  si)ied  upon, 
but   lie  stilled  his  displeasure,  and  bethought 


him  that  he  would  go  farther  and  wait  longer 
before  returning  the  same  way  ;  hoping  that  the 
man  would  then  be  gone.  But  the  other,  as  if 
guessing  his  purpose,  now  sauntered  across  his 
path.  As  well  as  he  could  see  by  the  dim  lights 
in  that  narrow  street  beside  the  piazetta  of  St. 
Stephen,  the  fellow  was  meanly,  or  rather  beg- 
garly dressed  ;  the  careless  moving  of  his  lank 
iirnbs,  for  he  had  never  a  cloak  to  cover  his 
short  doublet,  denoted  extreme  feebleness  or 
indolence,  or  both,  and  no  less  reckless  inso- 
lence. With  a  coarse,  harsh  voice,  made  husky 
and  thin,  as  if  by  the  starvation  that  had 
scourged  the  poor  in  that  time  of  trouble  and 
dearth,  the  man  bade  him  good  even. 

"A  happy  night,  good  man,"  answered  Ed- 
ward. "  Do  you  want  aught  of  me,  that  thus 
you  watch  and  follow  me  ?" 

"  I  am  no  beggar,  my  worthy  sir  ;  but  rather 
it  seemed  to  me  that  it  is  you  who  want  some- 
thing, and  perchance  1  might  not  dislike  to 
I  serve,  nor  to  be  paid  for  it  in  coin,  honestly 
earned." 

"But  who  is  it  that  would  serve  mel" 

The  man  hesitated  ;  and  his  voice  sounded 
as  if  he  grinned,  when  he  rephed — "  Say  that  I 
belong  to  the  household  of  yonder  peilace." 

"  Is  it  so  V  asked  Edward  ;  the  man's  man- 
ner making  him  doubt.  "  Do  you  know  Messer 
.Vlorisinil" 

"Messer  Marco  1  aye  ;  a  most  noble  gentle- 
man, my  master ;  though  I  am  too  humble  to 
have  his  regard.  Shall  I  bear  a  message  to  him 
for  my  lord  !" 

"  Know  you  Messer  Sebastianol" 

"  Do  I  not  know  him  !  Truly  I  am  not  likely 
to  forget  him,  for  the  gifts  that  he  hath  bestowed 
on  me  ;  though  in  the  freeness  and  bounty  of 
his  heart  he  forgets  them  himself,  excellent 
gentleman  !  Shall  your  most  generous  gift  be 
for  speaking  with  that  comely  youth  !  But  I 
fear  he  hath  not  returned ;  for  I  have  known 
the  return  of  each,  and  him  I  have  not  noted." 

"  It  is  not  with  him  I  would  speak,"  said  Ed- 
ward, now  believing  that  the  man  did  belong 
to  the  house.  "  Know  you  the  Lady  Angio- 
linal" 

"  That  most  sweet  and  lovely  young  mis- 
tress ]  Do  we  not  all  love  her  as  if  she  were 
our  mother  1  Sir,  the  Lady  Angiolina  is  a  saint. 
Is  it  some  letter  that  I  must  bear  to  herl  for 
she  can  read,  as  I  am  witness.  I  do  think  that 
for  the  carrying  of  letters  our  gallants  used  to 
give  gold  ;  and  I  am  assured  that  I  do  not  now  ^ 
speak  except  to  one  who  is  generous  in  good 
gifts,  as  my  most  beloved  young  master,  good 
Messer  Sebastian." 

"  You  shall  have  gold.  I  would  speak  with 
the  lady — I  have  a  message  from  her  brother. 
Can  you  compass  thatl" 

"You  are  answered  in  your  own  promise: 
what  could  not  be  done  for  goldl  Even  for 
silver  one  can  do  much  ;  but,  then,  no  gallant 
gives  silver,  lest  a  baser  coin  should  shame  tliR 
lady." 

"  Why,  then,  take  this — it  is  gold." 

"  I  know  it  by  the  feel  :  it  is  heavier  than 
silver,   ray  lord,   and  softer,  and  richer,  and     • 
warmer  to  the  touch.     I  have  learned  to  know 
the  difference  ;  for  I  have  often  taken  the  two 
pleasant  metals  in  the  dark." 

"  Often  1    Why,  then,  what  is  vour  service  '" 


112 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


"  I  am  so  humble  in  the  house,  that  I  am  no- 
hody's  servant,  and  therefore  am  everybody's  ; 
so  that  what  I  lack  in  salary  I  ofttimes  get  in 
these  fififts." 

"  Well,  let  me  see  the  lady  where  she  is,  and 
as  I  enter,  you  shall  have  the  fellow  to  that  ; 
and  again  as  I  come  out  you  shall  have  a  third, 
if  I  reach  this  place  without  let." 

"  Follow  me,  then."  And  he  led  the  way  to 
a  door  more  at  the  side  of  the  house.  They  had 
scarcely  reached  it  when  he  stopped  and  whis- 
pered— "  Stand  by ;  here  goes  one  that  has 
more  eyes  than  all  the  rest  in  the  palace." 

Edward  drew  up  close  against  the  wall,  like 
his  companion  ;  and  then  he  heard  the  step  of 
a  man  at  some  distance  behind  them.  He  came 
on  apace,  walking  straight  towards  the  little 
door,  and  entered.  By  his  stature  and  heavy 
stride,  it  was  Alessandro  Padovano.  Edward 
remained  unmoved  till  his  guide  stepped  for- 
ward ;  but  the  man  again  wliispered  to  him  to 
wait  till  he  saw  tliat  the  path  was  clear ;  and 
he  followed  Alessandro.  In  a  minute  he  re- 
turned, and  beckoning  Edward,  led  him  into  the 
hall,  where  he  placed  him  in  a  dark  corner,  and 
again  disappeared.  After  a  longer  delay,  the 
man  came  back,  and  cautiously  leading  his  fol- 
lower up  the  stairs  and  through  some  ante- 
chambers, he  brouglit  him  to  one  smaller  than 
the  rest,  dimly  lighted  ;  and  then,  still  whisper- 
ing, he  said — "The  lady  is  in  there,  through 
that  door.  It  is  your  business  to  announce 
yourself,  and  say  why  you  have  come.  You 
will  know  your  way  out  agaml" 

"  I  think  so." 

'•  I  will  wait  for  you  to  guide  you  ;  but  be  not 
too  quick,  for  I  have  other  work  to  do.  I  sup- 
pose there  is  no  fear  of  that."  And  with  that 
Ildward  was  alone. 

With  a  beating  heart,  he  approached  the  door 
that  had  been  pointed  out,  and  knocked  upon 
it.  "  Enter,"  cried  a  soft  voice  within.  He 
entered,  and  saw  that  he  was  in  a  saloon,  of 
small  size,  but  sumptuously  furnished.  On  a 
couch  was  seated  Angiolina ;  on  a  table  near, 
but  too  far  off'  for  reading,  lay  an  open  book, 
with  a  lamp  ;  on  the  ground,  leaning  against 
the  couch,  stood  a  lute  ;  and  thrown  over  the 
other  end  of  the  couch  was  part  of  a  mantle  of 
red  velvet,  half  way  over  which  marched  a 
stately  stream  of  embroidered  gold,  that  stop- 
ping in  the  midst,  showed  where  the  worker's 
needle  had  stayed.  The  lady,  however,  seemed 
#  to  have  been  engaged  in  none  of  those  her  re- 
cent tasks ;  but  as  if,  after  having  left  one  for 
the  oilier,  she  had  sunk  to  sleep ;  for  when  he 
entered  she  moved  her  feet  off"  the  couch,  to  sit 
npright.  Shielding  her  eyes  from  the  light,  she 
looked  across  the  room ;  seeing  an  unwonted 
form  enter  there,  she  rose  in  wonder;  and 
then,  knowing  who  it  was,  she  clasped  her 
hand.s,  and  cried — "  Ah  me  !  Messer  Odoardo  ! 
why  come  you  here  V 

'•Dearest  lady,  need  you  askl"  cried  he, 
hastening  towards  her,  and  kissing  her  hand, 
like  one  whom  lack  of  time  emboldened.  "  Does 
It  anger  you  that  I  should  come  again,  after  the 
words  you  vouchsafed  to  hear,  and  the  sweet 
assent  you  gave  them  ;  or  is  it  that  the  long 
delay  to  return  has  made  you  think  me  recre- 
ant, and  I  have  lost  the  blessing,  scarcely  won  !" 

"Neither,  indeed  it  is  neither.     But  to  see 


you  here  fills  me  with  fear  for  your  danger  ;  I 
scarcely  know  why — indeed,  I  know  nothing, 
but  that  Venice  has  been  in  danger,  and  is  novr 
happily  restored  to  safety  ;  wherein  I  know  of 
my  own  heart  that  you  have  helped.  But  still 
I  mark  that  this  good  fortune  has  not  made  my 
father  kinder  to  his  child,  after  so  long  an  ab- 
sence ;  why  I  know  not.  Nor  has  Sebastian 
returned  to  the  home  he  left.  I  know  nothing 
but  that  I  have  been  alor\g  so  long,  fearing  all, 
and  having  no  word  of  comfort." 

"  Recreant  indeed  that  I  was,  not  to  care  for 
that !"  cried  Edward,  tenderly  folding  his  arm 
round  her,  and  sitting  by  her  side.  Her  face 
sunk  on  his  shoulder.  "  Alas  !  alas  !  grieve  not 
so,  sweetest  lady ;  but  all  good  hope  comfort 
you.     Our  Sebastian  is  safe." 

Angiolina  wept  for  a  space  without  stirring ; 
her  tears  falling  fast  and  gently,  like  a  steady, 
silent  summer-rain,  that  darkens,  but  restores 
the  face  of  earth.  Raising  herself  again,  she 
said,  "  Forgive  me,  Odoardo,  for  meeting  you 
with  this  humor;  but  the  dreary  months  have 
passed  all  in  thought  of  those  dear  and  absent, 
with  not  a  word  of  tidings  save  what  has  passed 
through  the  mouths  of  all  Venice  ;  and  I,  who 
had  almost  learned  to  forget  everything  except 
the  weariness  of  that  lonesome  stillness,  now 
melt  again  into  hope  with  this  sad  way." 

Edward  again  kissed  her  hand,  and  strove  to 
reassure  her  with  many  words  of  solace — sto- 
ries of  Sebastian's  deeds,  of  Zeno,  of  Ranieri, 
of  Teresa  ;  for  Angiolina,  in  her  simple  desire 
to  learn  all  that  concerned  her  brother,  sus- 
pected no  secret  towards  Edward,  and  asked 
freely.  And  thus,  by  being  to  her  the  sole  one 
in  all  that  house  that  satisfied  her  heart  with 
those  needful  explanations  which  should  have 
been  furnished  her  by  one  of  her  own  kin,  he 
reached  a  place  of  greater  confidence  in  her 
affection  ;  so  that  all  at  once  he  seemed  to 
stand  to  her  in  place  of  all  family-love — the  only 
one  in  that  time  who  knew  her  heart,  and  was 
within  its  reach.  Again  she  suffered  him  to 
draw  her  towards  him,  and  she  leaned  her  head 
on  his  shoulder  ;  while  she  listened,  he  told  her 
of  Sebastian's  dangers  and  honors,  fears  and 
hopes ;  tears  bedewed  her  eyes,  and  he  stole 
them  with  kisses  ere  they  fell  to  waste ;  she 
asked  him  of  his  own  deeds,  and  when  he  told, 
instead,  his  love,  and  crowned  his  words  with 
a  kiss  on  her  warm,  swelling  lips,  she  only 
sighed.  They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes, 
and  saw  there,  under  trembling  lids,  the  light 
clouded  over  like  the  mist  that  dims  the  surface 
of  sparkling  waters  under  the  trees  of  a  sum- 
mer even — the  sweet  mastery  of  passion  unre- 
sisted by  the  will.  None  had  taught  the  young 
girl  to  suspect;  she  suspected  no  wrong,  and 
there  was  none  to  suspect  in  Edward's  loyal 
heart ;  but  in  that  converse  was  all  else  for  the 
time  forgotten — the  hour,  the  place,  their  ene- 
mies— all. 

Abruptly  and  violently  clanked  the  door  as  it 
was  suddenly  opened,  and  a  man  strode  into 
the  room.     It  was  the  foster  brother  ! 


CHAPTER  LII. 

When  Edward  was  left  alone  in   the  little 
antechamber,  his  guide  hastened  back  upon  hij 


THL  lUSTER  BROTHER. 


113 


steps,  and  passing  down  stairs,  he  crossed  the 
hall  and  entered  another  apartment,  as  one 
familiar  with  tiie  house.  He  staid  not  in  the 
first  room,  but  went  straight  to  an  inner  one, 
in  which  stood  Alessandro  da  Padova,  without 
his  cloai<  ;  making  some  change  in  his  attire, 
like  him  who  had  corne  from  a  long  journey." 

"How  now  ^  who  is  this!"  cried  the  foster 
brother,  angrily  ;  '•  what  now,  Nadale  1  Do 
jou  fly  from  death,  that  you  enter  thus  unman- 
nerly !" 

"  I  fly  to  keep  up  with  time  that  runs  apace," 
answered  the  fellow,  roughly  ;  "  and  they  are 
wont  to  take  free  license,  and  to  be  freely  for- 
given, that  bring  welcome  news." 

"Jest  not.  Go  into  the  next  chamber,  and 
await  me  there." 

"  Nay,  my  time  will  not  await  the  picking  of 
chambers.  I  have  some  wares  for  you,  Messer 
Alessandro ;  a  venture  which  I  have  made  for 
your  market." 

"  I  have  given  thee  no  task." 

"  Truly  no  :  I  say  it  is  a  venture,  what  think 
you  of  a  lady  V 

"  No  jests,  I  say.  You  have  been  drinking, 
ribald.     Await  me  without  I" 

"Nor  drink  neither.  I  have  a  lady  that  you 
would  have  taken  had  you  dared ;  that  you 
would  buy  to  sell  again,  and  here  she  is  for 
you  ;  as  good  as  new,  and  yet  cheap.  What 
will  you  give  for  the  Lady  Teresa  Arduino — 
taken  without  your  privily — all  safe  and  se- 
cret V 

Alessandro  listened,  chiding  no  more. 

"  I  have  her.  Messer  Sebastiano  hid  her 
away  among  the  poor  folks  at  Canareggio  ;  but 
itie  Ten  do  not  look  so  close  after  the  poor,  es- 
pecially in  these  times,  when  a  few  women  the 
less  makes  a  few  less  to  feed.  I  saw  him 
when  he  led  her  from  the  grand  council.  I 
knew  him  and  his  fist  by  the  aching  of  my  jaw  ; 
I  played  boatman  to  him,  for  the  love  I  ever 
bear  him, — and  he  paid  me  for  it,  sweet  gentle- 
man ! — I  stole  upon  her  just  when  the  victory 
made  everybody  mad,— with  none  but  an 
old  fisherman  to  help  her ;  I  brought  her 
away.  Now  say — she  is  yours — cheap — I  have 
a  fancy  for  selling  her  cheap  ;  or,  if  you  will  not 
buy,  I  will  keep  her,  a  nightingale  in  a  cage, 
10  amuse  o' nights,  in  token  of  memory  for 
deal  Messer  Sebastiano,  my  most  excellent 
friend." 

"  Is  this  true  1" 

•'True  as  Messer  Sebastiano's  love.  Say 
the  word,  and  the  goods  shall  be  landed  here 
in  half  an  hour." 

"  What  is  your  price  ?" 

"Ten  ducats — golden.  It  is  not  too  much  for 
the  wares." 

"  I  will  buy  her.  Keep  her  till  I  demand  her 
here.     Now  go." 

"  But  that  is  not  all.  Messer  Sebastiano 
hath  a  friend, — a  most  brave  young  gentle- 
man." 

"Ranieri,  Teresa's  brother  T' 

"  No  :  the  Englishman — Odoardo  we  call  him  ; 
a  most  brave  young  gentleman,  best  known 
in  Venice  as  the  gallant  that  did  such  deeds  for 
the  love  of  la  Gobba." 

"The  Englishman!  I  know  him.  Have 
you  him  too  for  sale  !" 

"  Not  quite.     Now  bear  me  without  loss,  and 


you  shall  have  him  at  no  gfreater  cost.  One 
ducat,  one  golden  ducat — cash — on  the  nail — 
only  you  paying  it  me  instead  of  him,  as  he  has 
promised." 

Alessandro  threw  one  on  the  ground,  saying, 
— '-You  make  money  fast,  Nadale." 

"Aye  ;  trade  varies.  Now  it  is  all  dull,  now 
brisk.  But  we  are  poor.  Messer  Odoardo 
gives  his  gold  into  your  hand  ;  you  n)ake  us 
pick  it  off  the  ground  ;  still  I  love  your  pride, 
Messer  Alessandro  ;  and  for  the  gallant,  he  is 
here." 

"  Here !" 

"In  this  house.  He  has  given  la  Gobba  a 
rival, — none  other  but  our  good  lord's  daughter, 
Madonna  Angiolina ;  and  now  he  is  with  her, 
losing  no  time,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  Are  you  madl" 

"  Nay,  go  to  her  lodging,  and  see." 

"  But  how  got  he  entrance  T' 

"  I  brought  him." 

"  You  !  how  then,  ruffian,  dared  you  ! — Do 
you  desire  to  be  scourged  or  hanged,  that  thus 
you  serve  me  V 

"  Nay,  good  Messer  Alessandro,  I  am  no  ser- 
vant of  yours,  except  in  courtesy.  You  pay  no 
salary,  but  only  by  the  job  ;  and  I  am  too  poor 
to  refuse  jobs  that  fall  into  one's  way.  Besides, 
it  was  better  to  let  the  fish  enter  the  net,  than 
to  frighten  hira  away  by  disturbing  the  waters. 
He  has  not  yet  had  time  to  steal  the  bait. 
Haste  to  them,  and  you  shall  have  him  at  will ; 
and  as  for  the  Lady  Teresa,  she  shall  be  kept 
at  your  bidding." 

Alessandro  left  the  room  with  hasty  strides  ; 
an  instant  brought  him  to  Angiolina's  favorite 
cliamber ;  and  there  his  malignant  eyes  were 
gladdened  with  the  sight  of  the  Englishman, 
Angiolina  folded  in  his  arms.  For  an  instant 
he  gazed  on  their  astounded  faces  ;  and  what 
a  tumultuous  rush  of  thought  swept  across  his 
brain  in  that  second  of  time  !  Teresa  in  bis 
power — Edward — Angiolina — Zeno  ;  the  need 
to  increase  his  own  might,  to  crush  his  loes  and 
save  himself  from  crushing,  in  few  brief  days  : 
Rosa,  her  troublesome  pride,  ruin  tottering  in 
the  balance,  to  fall  on  him  or  to  be  hurled  by 
him  :  the  sight  of  the  young  girl,  whose  growth 
to  womanhood  he  had  scarcely  noted,  now 
clasped  in  the  arms  of  love,  suggested  to  the 
schemer  a  new  stroke — she  should  be  his — he 
would  buy  her  of  her  father  with  Teresa  ;  and 
thus  should  he  strike  to  the  heart  of  those  who 
had  braved  him  till  he  had  madly  chafed — Ed- 
ward, Sebastian,  Rosa  ;  thus  too  advancing  his 
iron  power  and  estate  to  be  more  mighty  in 
Venice.  Raising  his  arm,  he  exclaimed  in  a 
hollow  and  stern  voice, — "What  audacious 
caitiff  has  thus  betrayed  the  honor  of  this  most 
noble  house  1  Alas  !  Messer  Odoardo,  even 
I  deplore  this  shame  and  peril  for  mine  enemy. 
And  you,  most  miserable  lady  ! — But  it  is  not 
for  one  so  humble  as  me  to  act  here.  Leave 
that  shameful  posture,  lest  the  sight  should 
strike  blind  him  whose  honor  is  above  all  in 
Venice." 

Angiolina  started  from  her  seat,  shrinking  in 
fear  from  Edward. 

Rising,  too,  the  Englishman  fronted  the  fos- 
ter brother,  and  cried, — "  You  have  surprised 
me,  Messer  Alessandro,  in  the  house  of  one 
who  is  my  enemy,  though  I  am  not  his  ;  buV 


114 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


dishonor  there  is  none,  save  in  base  suspi- 
cions." 

"  Be  it  so,  be  it  so  ;  but  this,  I  say,  is  above 
my  office."  He  looked  round  the  room  as  if  con- 
sidering ;  then  returning  to  the  door  by  which 
he  had  entered,  he  took  a  key  from  it,  and  going 
out,  he  locked  the  door  ;  leaving  the  lovers 
alone. 

All  pale  and  trembling,  Angiolina  put  her 
hand  to  her  head,  as  if  to  collect  her  thoughts. 
Edward  drew  near,  and  again  passing  his  arm 
round  her,  he  begged  her  to  have  no  fear.  At 
the  sound  of  his  voice  she  started,  and  turning 
to  him,  she  cried, — "  Oh,  dearest  Edward,  fly  ; 
let  them  not  find  you  when  he  returns. — But 
alas  !  alas  !  there  is  no  way  out  of  these  rooms 
but  this,  and  Alessandro  has  barred  that  way. 
Oh  !  do  not  resist, — yield — and  they  will  let 
you  depart." 

"  Speak  not  of  flight,  sweetest, — it  is  for  the 
guilty  to  fly  :  nor  of  yielding,  where  nought  has 
been  taken  to  yield  except  that  which  cannot 
be  given  up — the  faith  and  truth  of  love." 

"  Hush,  hush  !  they  come,"  cried  she. 

There  was  the  sound  of  distant  voice  in  the 
ante-rooms,  but  they  passed,  and  no  one  came. 
Long  time  thus  the  lovers  waited  in  doubt,  still 
imprisoned,  but  still  alone.  Voices  passed 
again  ;  and  still  no  one  broke  upon  their  strange 
solitude  ;  which  more  terrified  Angiolina  with 
the  delay,  while  doubt  and  wailing  wearied 
even  Edward's  words  of  comfort.  Thus  crept 
on  the  night  in  silent  fear. 


CHAPTER  LHI. 

Aless.vndko  crossed  the  great  ante-rooms  to 
Morosini's  own  apartment  ;  and  in  a  private 
cabinet  he  found  the  senator  himself.  Morosini 
paced  the  floor  :  the  great  and  doubtful  struggle 
in  which  he  was  engaged  kept  him  restless. 
Alessandro  entered  without  haste,  and  walking 
to  the  window,  looked  out  in  silence,  waiting  till 
the  other  should  address  him  ;  for  ever  it  was 
his  aim  to  make  all  things  seem  to  begin  with 
his  patron.  Nor  could  Morosini  long  withstand 
the  wonted  attraction  ;  for  stopping  in  his  course 
he  asked,  as  if  the  foster  brother  knew  his 
thought, — "But,  Alessandro,  are  we  all  pre- 
pared T' 

"  Most  amply  ;  and  right  soon  will  those  be 
here  who  will  give  us  their  aid  and  counsel.  Be- 
fore they  come,  there  are  other  matters  whereof 
I  would  speak  with  you,  strangely  involved. 
There  was,  if  you  forget  her  not,  one  Teresa 
Arduino." 

Morosini  suddenly  drew  nearer,  intently  lis- 
tening ;  but  just  at  that  moment  a  serving  man 
entered  to  them,  and  told  Alessandro  that  cer- 
tain gentlemen  desired  to  speak  with  him.  "  Is 
it  Mcsser  Barbarigo  1"  asked  the  Paduan.  The 
man  bowed.  "  Bring  them  in  here.  They  have 
come  too  soon,  by  some  minutes  ;  but  they  must 
first  be  served." 

Not  long  time  passed  before  Barbarigo  enter- 
ed the  room  ;  and  in  the  greetings  might  be 
known  Liiigi  daMolino  by  his  heavy  voice,  Pi- 
etro  di  Bernardo  by  his  gay  manners,  and  Li- 
onardo  Morosini  by  his  bold  and  careless  bear- 
ing    The  courtesies  over,  Barbarigo  unfolded 


the  business  of  tlie  night,  "We  have  come, 
Messer  Morosini,"  he  said,  "  seeing  the  danger 
in  which  Venice  is  placed  by  the  treachery  that 
menaces  her  existence,  seeing  the  trouble  that 
you  had  even  to  make  heard  your  juit  accusal, 
to  take  counsel  with  you  as  to  the  means  ol 
providing  for  this  peril,  and  bringing  yourcharge 
to  fidl  proof"  The  plan  was,  to  collect  evi- 
dence of  Zeno's  intelligence  with  Carrara,  froiii 
divers  quarters  known  to  Messer  Alessandro  da 
Padova,  and  thus  to  bring  shame  and  defeat, 
not  only  on  Zeno,  but  on  Contarini  and  his  sup- 
porters ;  greatly  advancing  Morosini's  power 
in  the  senate.  And  Carrara  himself  was  to  be 
made  a  witness.  "  Start  not  at  that  name, 
Messer  Morosini,"  said  Barbarigo  :  "  Messer 
Francesco  is  a  defeated  man  ;  in  defeat,  he  has 
learned  with  his  happy  discretion  and  right  no- 
ble heart,  wisdom  and  virtue  ;  and  he  gener- 
ously deplores  the  ill  that  he  hath  worked  on 
Venice,  desiring  rather  to  repair  it  than  to  con- 
tinue it,  and  so  to  disarm  some  part  of  her 
rightful  vengeance."  Morosini  had  indeed  start- 
ed. He  would  have  disclosed  his  interview 
with  the  monk  in  Carrara's  castle  on  the  coast, 
but  Alessandro  hindered  him.  And  it  was  not 
very  difficult  to  persuade  him  that  this  plan,  be- 
ginning among  grave  and  faithful  senators,  his 
chief  supporters,  was  not  only  safe,  but  the  sur- 
est means  to  overwhelm  his  enemies  ;  Carrara 
being  really  an  altered  man  and  a  penitent. 

"And  I,"  said  Lionardo  Morosini,  "would 
summon  yet  another  witness.  Carlo  Zeno  is 
threatened  with  prison,  and  we  all  know  to 
what  prison  leads,  especially  after  serving  Ven- 
ice :  let  us  promise  him  pardon,  safety,  and  new- 
power  hereafter,  and  he  will  yield  to  our  assault 
— forego  his  resistance  to  our  proofs,  and  accept 
as  our  bounty  what  we  shall  give."  Small  fa- 
vor found  his  proposal  with  the  rest,  and  being 
alone  he  was  soon  silenced  ;  though  still  mut- 
tering that  it  were  a  wise  scheme.  For  Lio- 
nardo was  one  who  trusted  much  to  force,  bold- 
ness, and  extravagant  projects  ;  which  often 
brought  him  through  dangers  that  he  sought  and 
others  foresaw. 

It  was  agreed,  for  greater  secrecy  and  the 
better  conduct  of  the  matter,  that  the  Paduan 
should  go  to  seek  the  evidence  of  Carrara,  and 
to  learn  his  mind  on  the  matter.  And,  having 
other  affairs  that  awaited  their  absence,  Ales- 
sandro so  managed,  that  the  visiters  wasted 
little  time  in  the  conference,  but  agreed  quickly, 
and  then  departed. 

When  they  were  gone,  while  Morosini  was 
lost  in  the  strange  projects  which  had  been  so 
rapidly  unfolded,  the  foster  brother  somewhat 
suddenly  accosted  him,  saying, — "  You  will 
bear  me  witness,  Marco,  that  never  in  your 
life  (signal  as  have  been  your  endless  bounties 
to  me,  and  however  deep  my  gratitude)  have  I 
flattered  that  weakness  and  vice  which  most 
holds  you  in  bondage.  And  yet  hath  some- 
thing occurred  which  makes  it  now  seem  that 
I  must  do  so.     Teresa  Arduino " 

Marco  again  listened. 

"  You  remember  her  1  she  has  fallen  into 
my  power,  and  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart,  if  I 
would  not  help  you  in  these  light  matters,  to  be 
a  secret  hindrance  to  you.  She  is  in  my  power 
and,  being  so,  in  yours.  But  it  is  not  that  o; 
which  I  would  speak,"  added  the  foster  brothej 


TFIE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


115 


Beeing  that  iic  had  fixed  tlie  idea  in  Morosini's 
mind  to  such  purpose  that  it  was  sure  to  arise 
again  snontaneously, — "  it  was  of  a  far  other 
matter.      In   all   these   services   of   yours   to 
Venice  do  I  ever  feel  that  more  could  I  aid  you 
if  I  were  not  so  weak  and  of  so  little  account." 
And   on  that   head   Alessandro    talked   long; 
until,  having  brought  his  brother  to  be  in  such 
mood    that  it   seemed   most  to   advance   the 
power  of  both  to  devise  some  way  of  enhancing 
the   foster  brother's   power,   he    continued, — 
"Now,   therefore,   be   not    displeased  at   my 
boldness,  if  I  presume  too  much  on  your  noble 
generosity  and  your  patience.     If  you  desired  to 
give  me  greater  esteem  in  Venice,  there  is  one 
m.eans — to  let   me  be  your  son — your  son  by 
marriage.     That  the  fair  Angiolina  would  find 
a  nobler  spouse  is  most  true  ;  but  what  alliance 
of  that  kind  is  needed  by  your  house  1  Nor  let 
it  disturb  you  that  I  am  accounted  your  brother 
in  milk  ;  for,  be  it  known  to  you,  really  it  was 
not  so  ;  but  my  father  was  a  nobleman  of  Flo- 
rence, secretly  married  to  my  mother,  also  a 
Florentine  lady,  who  was  poisoned,  as  some  sus- 
pected, by  reason  of  that  marriage.     I  was  nur- 
tured in  Sienna,  and  only  sent  to  Padua,   for 
safety,  after  the  age  of  such  nurture  as  a  wo- 
man gives.     Let  not  this  amaze  you,  for  I  can 
bring  proofs  such  as  will  satisfy  you  and  ail  that 
may  need,  though  I  have  heretofore  forborne, 
because  to  have  disclosed  the  truth  would  have 
brought  me  no  fortune  ;  my  father's  substance 
being  all  wasted,  or  passed  to  others  ;  and  it 
might  have  parted  me  from  you,  in  whom  all 
my  love  and  duty  abided.     I  can,  I  say,  bring 
proof."     Now  herein  Alessandro  had  no  intent 
to  deceive  Morosini,  but  merely  to  save  him, 
by  telling  him  the  tale  thus  privily,  from  the 
seeming  to  join  in  a   fraud  ;  but  he  spoke  so 
firmly  and  confidently,  that  verily  the   senator 
was  deceived.     He   answered  not — the  foster 
brother  neither  desired   nor   expected  him  to 
answer  ;  his  mind  was  too  fully  occupied  ;  the 
prospect  was  too  new  and  too  sudden  for  him 
to  conceive  it  ;  and  Alessandro  left  the  seed  to 
take  root,  and  grow  into  a  project  of  the  patri- 
cian's own  thought.     "  Think  not  of  it  now," 
said  the  Paduan  ;  ''  if  you  approve  not,  pass  it 
by  as  an  idle  jest ;  hut  it  might  help  me  in  your 
service.     Yet  while  I  talk,  even  now,  your  dear 
daugiiter  may  he  sf.;zcd  from  us." 

"  Seized  !  Angiol  nn  1     St.  IVIark  forbid  !  what 

— can  Sebastian '' 

"  Be  not  impatient.     Not  Sebastian — though 
indeed  your  quick  suspicion  outruns  my  slower 
wit,  for  Sebastian'o  fritii.l  it  io  tli.il  \i:.o  invaded 
your  house." 
"My  house  !" 

"Aye,  your  house.  He  is  here,  even  now; 
and,  but  that  I  discovered  the  thief  in  time,  in 
the  Lady  Angiolina's  chamber,  even  now  the 
house  might  have  been  bereft." 

Morosini  laid  his  hand  upon  his  sword,  and 
would  have  rushed  from  the  room,  hut  tlie  fos- 
ter brother  staid  him. 

"Bethinic  you,"  he  cried,  "that  I  have  made 
all  safe  ;  the  thief  is  a  prisoner ;  and  by  a  noble 
forbearance  you  most  will  abash  and  humble 
your  e-nemies,  and  most  c.xalt  your  own  dig- 
nity. The  lady  is  of  a  tender  and  dutiful  heart, 
as  I  have  fall  well  noted  ;  and  let  that  be  your 
trust.     Bid  her,  and  she  will  drive  ;iwaj  the 


miserable  man  who  is  lured  by  her  beauty. 
Thus  may  you  set  the  duty  of  the  one  child 
against  the  crimes  of  the  other." 

"  Alessandro,"  said  the  noble,  "  ever  are  you 
my  best  friend — watching  and  guarding  all- 
even  over  myself;  and  now  to  your  generous 
pleading  does  Angiolina  owe  the  forbearance 
of  an  offended  father.     Lead  me  to  her  " 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

Silently  sat  the  lovers,  still  awaiting  Ales- 
sand  ro's  return,  when  footsteps  hastily  and 
directly  nearing  the  door  startled  their  sense. 
Angiolina  fled  from  her  seat  upon  the  couch, 
and  stood,  turned  from  Edward  and  from  the 
opening  door,  leaning  her  hand  upon  the  table 
for  support,  her  head  bent  down. 

The  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  Alessandro, 
throwing  the  door  open,  made  way  for  Marco 
Morosini.  Angiolina  gave  no  sign  that  she 
noted  her  father's  presence,  except  that  the 
arm  on  which  she  leaned  trembled  more.  Ed- 
ward folded  his  arms,  and  awaited  the  sena- 
tor's approach.  Morosini  slowly  crossed  the 
room,  surveying  the  lovers  alternately,  with  no 
rage  in  his  glassy  eye,  with  no  surprise,  but 
with  a  composed  displeasure,  that  set  forth  the 
dignity  of  his  tall  form,  drawn  up  to  his  full 
height.  First  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  daugh- 
ter; and  when  his  footsteps  ceased,  as  if  she 
knew  that  cold  and  cruel  gaze  was  upon  her, 
she  trembled  yet  more.  In  a  low  and  subdued 
voice  he  said — "Angiolina  !"  and  the  girl  still 
keeping  her  head  bent  down,  and  her  back 
turned  to  him,  raised  one  hand  to  hide  her  face, 
hidden  though  it  was  already  by  her  averted 
posture  and  her  drooping  hair.  Having  thus 
felt  his  untarnished  power,  Morosini  turned 
towards  the  Englishman,  saying — "  And  you, 
Messer  Inglese,  what  reason  can  you  give  why 
you  have  thus  untimely  entered  the  house  of  a 
stranger  !  Teil  me  why  you  have  stolen  iuto 
the  most  sacred  part  of  this  my  house — you 
who  are  leagued  with  the  boldest  traitors  to 
Venice  ;  tell  me  why  this  treachery  to  rae  who 
have  never  injured  youl" 

"Messer  Morosini,"  replied  Edward,  "  there 
is  no  treachery.  Treachery  and  guile  were 
useless  here.  You  have  me  doubly  in  your 
power,  in  that  I  am  here  alone  among  all  your 
household,  and  in  that  you  are  the  father  ol 
those  whom  I  love,  and  especially  of  this  most 
excellent  lady.  Though  you  summon  all  your 
people,  the  sword  which,  as  you  have  seen, 
did  me  good  service  in  rougher  fields,  must  not 
be  drawn  in  this  presence.  Therefore  I  am  as 
one  without  hopo  from  treachery  or  force,  ii 
indeed  from  anything." 

"  Fear  not,  sir,  no  force  is  meant  to  you. 
Morosini  is  not  wont  to  need  force  to  maintain 
his  just  power.  You  count  on  a  show  of  bra- 
very to  advance  your  arts  ;  but  none  is  needed." 
"There  is  no  art — there  is  no  guile,  nor 
aught  but  two  things  so  little  uncommon  that 
they  should  cause  small  marvel — love  and  mis- 
fortune. My  blood,  most  noble  sir,  might  well 
match  even  with  the  oldest  in  Venice ;  nay,  I 
can  claim  conflicting  honors,  for  both  Saxon 
and  Danish  kings  are  among  my  forefathers ; 


IH 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


but  the  ruin  of  ray  race  has  fallen  upon  the  for- 
tunes of  my  kin  :  those  whom  the  Normans 
feast  could  cunquer,  most  did  they  hate  ;  and, 
like  my  father,  have  I  sought  better  fortune 
and  freer  life  in  foreign  lands.  I  have  served 
Venice  too  much  as  you  yourself  would  serve 
her,  for  love,  to  make  profit  by  the  service.  I 
have  no  fortune  that  could  make  me  bold  to 
claim  your  daughter;  yet  perforce  I  could  not 
refrain  from  love — why  should  I  feign  to  deny 
itr' 

"And  so  are  here  to  steal  what  you  dared 
not  begl" 

"I  ask  what  alone  I  can  give — truth.  Bet- 
ter fortunes  may  some  day  shine  upon  a  not 
luckless  sword." 

"  Knew  you  not,  Messer  Inglese,  for  you 
have  dwelt  long  with  us,  that  the  noble  women 
of  Venice  are  not  to  be  won  by  swords,  nor  to 
be  given  against  the  will  and  order  of  the 
state  1  This  is  childish  idling.  You  are  young, 
and  I  will  not  sternly  punish  your  fault  as  I 
might.  But  the  Lady  Angiolina  is  younger, 
sir,  and  must  learn  that  the  daughter  of  this 
house  is  not  to  be  given  away  for  trifling  words 
or  the  sport  of  youth.  She  knows  the  duty 
she  has  forgotten — she  at  least  among  my 
children  knows  to  obey  a  father's  voice,  and 
she  will  tell  you,  even  more  fitly  than  I,  that 
you  must  come  no  more." 

Morosini  paused,  and  there  was  a  dead  si- 
lence. 

He  resumed — "  You  hear  what  I  said.  De- 
part." 

"  I  have  heard  no  word  from  the  Lady  An- 
giolina." 

"You  shall  not  wait  long,  then.  Angiolina, 
say  to  Messer  Odoardo  as  I  have  said." 

Angiolina  turned.  Her  face  was  pale,  and 
bathed  in  tears.  She  cast  down  her  eyes,  not 
daring  to  raise  them  ;  but  the  unbroken  silence 
urged  her  to  speak,  and  she  lifted  her  eyes 
imploringly  to  her  father,  as  praying  him  to 
spare  her.  With  outstretched  arm  and  cold 
constancy  he  pointed  to  Edward.  She  trem- 
bled, her  lips  parted,  the  breath  seemed  scarce 
to  stir  them — but  the  words  fell  chill  on  Ed- 
ward's ear^"It  is  as  my  father  has  said." 

Morosini  turned  to  the  youth,  something  like 
a  proud,  disdainful  smile  shadowed  his  face. 
"  Thus  do  the  daughters  of  Venice  speak.  You 
are  satisfied  1" 

"Not  so,  Messer  Morosini.  You  speak  in 
j'our  daughter,  and  she  echoes  your  words  in 
fear.  I  have  said,  use  your  power  against  me, 
and  I  resist  not ;  but  never  will  I  render  up  my 
plighted  troth  to  the  Lady  Angiolina,  except 
at  her  command,  freely  given." 

"  You  speak  like  a  hoy.     Begone,  sir." 

"  Never,  except  as  I  have  said." 

Morosini  hesitated ;  and  Alessandro,  here 
first  interposing,  said — "  If  Messer  Odoardo  is 
80  dainty  in  refusals  that  he  must  have  this 
one  repeated,  let  him,  Messer  Marco,  have  his 
wish :  your  excellent  daughter  does  not  so  ill 
know  your  honor  and  her  duty,  but  what  she 
can  say  her  les.son  by  herself." 

Angiolina,  too,  turned  once  more  to  her 
parent.  She  struggled  to  speak,  forcing  out 
her  words  as  if  they  would  have  stifled  her. 
"  Father  mine,"  she  said,  "  I  have  obeyed  you. 
Of  your  bounty  grant  me  this — all  I  ask  :  to 


let  Messer  Odoardo  have  his  wiii  jn  this  little 
wish."  The  words  were  simple,  but  Angio- 
lina was  ever  simple  and  harmless,  and  had 
seldom,  even  of  the  stern  Morosini,  asked  in 
vain. 

The  senator  again  paused,  as  weighing  Ales- 
sandro's  counsel,  and  then  he  said  to  Edward, 
"  Be  it  so  ;  we  will  indulge  you  even  thus  fan- 
tastically, in  hopes  quite  to  smother  and  extin- 
guish your  vain  and  injurious  hope,  young  man, 
out  of  mercy  to  yourself ;  but  think  not  that  you 
can  safely  forget  your  own  discretion,  for  there 
is  no  escape  from  this  chamber  except  with 
my  will." 

The  noble  and  his  foster  brother  left  the 
room,  and  the  lovers  were  once  more  alone. 
Edward  drew  near,  and  again  passed  his  arm 
round  Angiolina's  almost  lifeless  form.  She 
resisted  not ;  but  no  scarce  perceptible  bend 
to  meet  his  encircling  arm  now  acknowledged 
his  embrace.  Her  face  was  not  averted,  nei- 
ther was  it  turned  towards  him.  He  took  her 
hand :  it  trembled  with  fear,  not  tenderness. 
He  stooped  to  see  the  belter  into  her  face,  and 
there  he  saw  seated  but  one  overmastering 
passion — submissive  despair.  Tliat  aspect,  so 
wan  and  strange,  struck  an  icy  chill  upon  his 
heart,  and  its  despair  seized  upon  him.  Utter- 
ing a  little  stifled  cry,  he  suddenly  left  his 
hold,  and  turning  away,  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands  and  wept. 

His  passion  somewhat  roused  the  girl,  and 
laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  she  said, 
"  Odoardo — Odoardo  mio,  do  not  kill  me  out- 
right with  grief  We  have  been  wrong — or, 
rather,  I ;  for  I  ought  to  have  known,  anfi 
saved  you  this.  Be  patient,  you  who  can  seek 
elsewhere  for  comfort." 

Edward  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  cried — 
"  Tell  me  now,  Angiolina,  what  is  your  own 
free  choice  and  will.  Say  that  it  is  to  abide 
by  truth,  and  by  my  deep,  lasting  love,  and  I 
will  leave  you  in  pain — but  leave  you  still  ta 
hope  one  day  to  win  you  perforce ; — say  that 
you  take  back  your  favor — that  it  is  your  own 
choice — and  I  obey." 

"  Alas  !  I  have  no  choice — or,  rather,  my 
choice  is  shaped  for  me.  I  cannot  will  other 
than  I  have  said." 

"And  is  that  your  choice,  without  fear  or 
force?" 

"  I  have  no  cause  to  fear,  except  for  you. 
That  is  my  wretched  choice." 

Edward  gazed  on  her  face.  It  had  changed 
not  from  its  pale  devotion  to  obedience.  One 
farewell  he  asked,  and  he  kissed  her  on  the 
mouth.  Her  lips  were  cold  and  still  as  the 
dead.  It  seemed  as  if  some  hideous  dreary 
spell  had  changed  his  companion,  and  that  tho 
living  lover  which  late  he  held,  had  turned  to 
some  strange  being  with  heart  and  sense  closed 
against  him.  Gently  he  unclasped  his  arms, 
and  taking  one  last  look  at  that  moveless  coun- 
tenance, he  left  the  room. 

Morosini  and  Alessandro  stood  in  the  ante- 
chamber, and  the  senator  started  forward  as 
the  youth  issued  forth  ;  but  seeing  him  alone, 
they  only  looked,  and  staid  him  not.  He  bore 
his  despair  in  his  front,  but  with  cairn  firmness  ; 
which  answered  unabashed  the  challenge  ol 
insolent  exultation  lurking  under  the  cool  pride 
of  the  two  as  they  suflered  him  to  pass  on 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


117 


He  dcscpnded  the  stairs,  not  forgetting  his 
path  ;  hut  hefore  he  reached  the  hall,  his  guide 
started  from  a  dark  corner,  as  if  he  had  been 
waiting  for  him. 

"You  have  been  long,"  said  the  man,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I  feared  to  miss  you  ;  for  I  dared 
not  venture  above,  hearing  Messer  Morosini's 
step.     But  I  shall  put  you  safely  without." 

Edward  made  no  answer,  following  in  silence. 
They  issued  into  the  deeper  darkness  and  chil- 
ler air  of  the  night. 

"  Do  not,  in  your  happy  dreams,"  said  the 
man,  the  ready  grin  sounding  in  his  voice, 
"  forget  your  servant." 

"  You  have  earned  your  fee,"  said  Edward  ; 
and  he  put  the  third  golden  ducat  into  the  fel- 
low's hand." 

"  Ah  !  signore  mio,  I  have  earned  well  to- 
night:" chuckling  and  chinking  his  gold,  that 
Edward  might  hear  it  as  they  parted. 

"When  Edward  had  left  them,  Marco  Moro- 
sini  went  to  the  door  of  his  daughter's  cham- 
ber, and  would  have  entered  ;  but  having  looked 
in,  he  stopped.  She  lay  supine  along  the  floor. 
Alessandro  looked  over  his  shoulder;  but  nei- 
ther moved  towards  the  stricken  girl ;  with 
such  fear  and  shame  will  the  aspect  of  despair 
palsy  the  boldest  hearts.  "  It  were  well,"  said 
Alessandro,  "  to  send  her  maids  hither ;  for 
they  understand  these  passing  maladies." 

On  that  license,  Morosini  walked  away; 
leaving  others  to  succor  his  child  in  her  misery. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

After  taking  a  few  hours'  repose,  Ranieri 
was  roused  by  a  summons  from  Carlo  Zeno ; 
who  had  left  his  bed  betimes,  and  was  found 
by  the  youth  in  a  closet,  seated  at  a  table  cov- 
ered with  papers.  Zeno  had  laid  aside  his 
general's  robes,  and  was  dressed  in  the  loose 
gown  worn  by  the  nobles  of  Venice  in  their 
homes,  with  a  small  round  flat-crowned  cap 
upon  his  head ;  a  garb  which  well  set  off  the 
majesty  of  his  form,  and  the  simple,  almost 
homely,  bold  blandness  of  his  face. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  Ranieri  mine,  after  my 
wont,  because  I  want  a  service  done."  His 
companion  smiled  :  Zeno's  service  was  his  best 
honor.  "  I  want  a  messenger,"  continued  the 
noble,  "  who  is  quick,  fearless,  and  discreet ; 
trusty,  yet  little  likely  to  be  missed  ;  and  one 
already  joined  with  us  in  this  trouble,  and  there- 
fore not  to  be  harmed  or  marked  out  for  a  new 
conspirator.  I  could  choose  either  you  or  Se- 
bastiano ;  and  it  likes  me  not  to  take  either  of 
you  away  till  your  sister  be  found ;  but  while 
you  have  the  best  right  to  seek  her,  I  do  think 
that  Sebastian  hath  not  his  heart  the  less  bound 
in  the  matter,  and  may  prove  the  keenest  in 
the  search.  Therefore  do  I  ask  you.  You  will 
take  this  letter  to  Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara, 
whom,  most  likely,  you  will  find  in  Padua ;  or, 
if  not,  go  to  him  wherever  he  may  be.  Having 
given  it  to  him,  he  will  listen  while  you  tell 
him  how  this  accusation  has  been  brou;;ht 
against  me,  and  you,  and  all  of  us ;  and  you 
will  say  that  I  want  his  testimony  to  absolve 
me, — either  his  license  to  declare  wherefore 
Ihi.s  gold  has  passed  between  us,  or  whatsoever 


may  seem   fit   to   him.     When    can   you  de 
parti" 

"  This  instant." 

"Go  then.  But  take  with  you  some  two  or 
three  of  my  most  comely  and  best  fuinished 
servants,  for  your  better  show  ;  and  this  bag  ol 
gold,  to  spend  as  beseems  you.  For  your  own 
dress,  you  need  care  little,  since  nature  has 
dressed  you  out  so  well,  and  given  you  so 
comely  a  mien,  that  you  need  no  clothes  to 
mark  you  noble.  Farewell.  Return  with  all 
your  best  speed." 

Ranieri  kissed  his  master's  hand,  and  left 
the  room.  Zeno  turned  to  the  table,  and  busied 
himself  in  reading  the  papers  piled  around  him, 
the  close  record  of  his  acts  since  he  left  Venice, 
to  be  submitted  to  the  senate ;  and  now  to  be 
set  in  their  last  order,  after  the  unceasing  ac- 
tivity of  his  latest  achievements.  Siill  he  read, 
when  the  door  was  opened,  and  a  servant  en- 
tered ;  saying  that  a  gentleman  would  speak 
with  him. 

"His  namel"  asked  Zeno. 

"  He  will  not  say,  my  lord,"  answered  the 
man,  "  but  by  his  voice  and  manner,  I  guess 
him  to  be  Messer  Morosini." 

"  What,  Messer  Marco  1" 

"  No,  my  lord  ;  his  cousin,  Messer  Lionardo 
Morosini." 

Zeno  was  silent  for  a  moment;  and  then  he 
said,  "bring  him  hither."  He  pushed  away 
his  papers  beyond  the  reach  of  his  visiter's 
sharp  eye  to  read  them  ;  and,  leaning  back  in 
his  chair,  marked  the  entrance  of  this,  the  most 
audacious  of  his  foes  save  Alessandro  da  Pad- 
ova. 

Lionardo  was  wrapped  in  a  cloak  too  plain 
for  the  splendor  of  slashing  and  embroidery 
affected  by  the  nobles,  and  on  his  head  he  wore 
a  cap  to  suit  his  humble  covering ;  like  one 
who  sought  to  avoid  notice  without.  Entering 
in,  he  doffed  his  cap  and  threw  open  his  cloak, 
as  seeking  no  disguise  where  he  was.  Zeno 
rose,  and  slightly  bending,  with  a  pleasant 
smile  he  pointed  to  a  seat  near  and  over  against 
his  own  ;  and  both  being  seated,  he  awaited 
what  his  visiter  should  say. 

"I  have  come  to  you,  Messer  Zeno,"  Lio- 
nardo began,  "  on  a  strange  enterprise,  with 
little  regard  of  danger  to  myself — less  from  you 
than  from  others;  and,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I 
must  crave  your  generous  forbearance  and  se- 
crecy." 

"  My  forbearance  you  surely  shall  have 
Messer  Lionardo  Morosini ;  but,  until  I  hear 
more,  I  know  not  whether  I  may  be  secret." 

"  Why  then  I  must  be  silent.  And  yet  you 
can  lose  nothing  in  the  promise ;  for  it  only 
binds  you  not  to  tell  that  which,  not  knowing 
now,  you  cannot  tell ;  and  mostly  concerns 
your  own  safety." 

"Messer  Lionardo,  if  I  did  think  that  I  should 
gain  my  own  safety  by  keeping  secret  that 
which  ought  to  be  known,  I  would  rather  not 
know  that  safety  than  pay  for  it  with  unlawful 
concealment.  But  I  like  not  that  others  should 
run  into  vain  dangers  on  my  behalf;  and  so  1 
will  even  keep  your  secret.  Do  you  meanwhile 
forbear,  and  tell  me  not  what  I  ought  not  to 
know." 

"  I  shall  tell  you  little  but  what  you  must 
know  alreadv."    .\nd  Lionardo  went  on  in  dis- 


118 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


course,  now  bold  and  heedless,  now  cautious 
and  reserved,  to  declare  to  Zeno  how  certain 
great  people  were  leagued  to  recover  Venice 
from  the  dangers  into  which  she  had  been 
brought  by  the  misgovernment  of  Contarini 
and  his  friends;  how  those  ill-judged  rulers 
had  made  an  enemy  of  Carrara,  when  he  de- 
sired to  be  a  friend,  and  were  thus  the  real 
provokers  of  the  war  of  Chiozza  ;  how  Zeno 
himself,  as  one  of  Contarini's  friends,  was  de- 
voted to  destruction ;  and  how  he  might  not 
only  be  safe,  but  share  triumphs  before  un- 
known, if  he  would  help  the  rescuers  of  Venice 
in  their  great  work — men  with  whom  he  would 
hold  it  no  shame  to  consort,  did  he  but  know 
their  names.  While  he  spoke,  Lionardo  often 
fixed  a  searching  regard  upon  the  other's  face, 
watching  what  his  words  might  do,  to  make 
Zeno  befriend  him  or  turn  a  bitterer  enemy. 
Zeno  the  while  kept  a  steadfast  countenance, 
V7ith  no  poring  looks  ;  but  rather  a  scarcely 
shown  smile,  as  though  he  were  somewhat 
amused.  Yet  was  not  the  intriguer  the  less 
watched.  "And  now,"  he  said,  "I  am  in 
your  power,  Messer  Zeno ;  and  therefore  you 
may  choose  whether  you  will  destroy  me  or 
make  yourself  one  of  our  greatest  leaders  ;  for 
in  sootti  there  are  amongst  us  those  who,  in 
such  case,  would  be  leaders  no  longer,  and 
others  who  would  grieve  little  at  the  change." 

"  You  need  fear  nought  from  me,  Messer 
Morosini ;  but  rather  shall  you  ever  command 
my  good  services.  Not  that  I  would  stay,  for 
you  among  the  rest,  that  torrent  of  danger 
which  you  are  letting  loose  upon  yourselves ; 
for  it  is  no  justice  to  pick  out  favorites  among 
culprits,  and  to  reserve  a  pardon  for  those  who 
seek  to  secure  both  sides,  gambling  for  the 
chance  of  conspiracy  while  they  would  forefend 
the  dangers  by  making  friends  with  those  who 
must  discover  it.  Be  not  angered  because  my 
speech  is  frank :  I  am  not  the  worse  enemy 
for  that ;  and  I  am  so  much  bounden  to  you  for 
this  good-will  to  me,  that  my  sword  shall  never 
strike  you,  should  we  meet.  But  I  will  think 
no  more  of  this.  I  will  not  win  either  safety 
or  profit  in  secret  and  crooked  paths  ;  I  will 
rather  fight  and  defend  myself  in  broad  day.  I 
scruple  not,  on  needful  occasion,  to  use  craft, 
yet  only  in  rough  war,  or  with  those  that  use 
nought  else ;  but  those  that  meet  me  openly, 
and  in  good  faith,  shall  never  be  deceived  by 
undermining  deceit  from  me." 

"Then  I  have  failed  in  my  enterprise,  and 
let  all  that  has  passed  here  be  forgotten." 

"Be  it  so:  but  why  should  not  some  good 
come  of  our  friendly  encounter?  These 
schemes,  Messer  Lionardo,  are  not  suited  to 
your  free,  bold  nature  ;  you  are  skilful,  I  dare 
to  say  it,  in  contrivings  ;  you  are  bold  to  exe- 
cute ;  but  you  cannot  keep  a  coward  secrecy, 
nor  brook  the  slow  reckoning  of  conspiracy — 
as  your  coming  here  is  proof  Leave  it,  Mes- 
ser Lionardo — choose  the  bolder  and  the  nobler 
side,  and  that  which  best  befits  you." 

Lionardo  listened  gravely ;  but  when  Zeno 
held  his  peace,  he  laughed,  and  answered,  — 
"  Your  counsel  is  excellent,  but  I  have  sought 
it  too  late." 

"Nevertheless  think  upr)n  it." 

"  In  any  case  I  count  on  your  discretion. 
Farewell !"    And  he  left  Zeno  to  his  papers. 


CHAPTER  LVf. 

Ranieri  used  such  good  discretion  and  speed 
that  he  travelled  without  let  of  any  kind  until 
he  arrived  in  the  presence  of  Carrara.  The 
Lord  of  Padua  was  seen  in  a  different  guiso 
from  that  he  wore  when  Ranieri  met  him  in 
Chiozza.  His  anxious  look  had  passed  away  ; 
and  if  he  had  not  the  aspect  of  bold  cunning 
with  which  he  listened  to  Marco  Morosini  and 
the  counterfeit  monk,  he  seemed  contentedly 
grave,  like  one  who  takes  fortune  as  she  comes, 
with  equal  mind.  He  wore  a  loose  dark  col- 
ored silken  vest,  without  confinement  or  belt 
at  the  waist,  reaching  down  to  the  knees, 
showing  the  hose  on  the  leg  ;  and  on  his  head 
a  cloth  folded  not  unlike  an  eastern  turban, 
only  scantier,  after  the  manner  of  his  house. 
He  sat  without  rising  as  his  visiter  entered, 
and  started  somewhat  when  he  saw  the  youth  ; 
but  he  bowed  courteously.  Ranieri  delayed 
not  with  his  message,  but  in  the  briefest  and 
plainest  word  told  his  story,  and  claimed  Car- 
rara's testimony  for  his  master.  Carrara  heard 
him  out ;  and  then  putting  on  rather  a  stern 
countenance,  he  said  "Messer  Giovinotto,  we 
have  met  before.     What  is  your  name  1 

"  Ranieri  Arduino." 

"The  Arduino  are  a  strange  and  varying 
race  !     Where  have  I  seen  you  V 

"  In  Chiozza." 

"  In  Chiozza  !   Aye — a  spy." 

"  The  servant  then  of  Messer  Carlo  Zeno, 
the  general  of  the  Venetian  forces ;  and  now 
the  servant  of  Carlo  Zeno,  your  friend." 

"  You  are  a  bold  youth  !  Did  you  not  tremble 
to  venture  hither  1" 

"  I  thought  not  of  it,  but  only  of  serving  the 
kindest  and  best  of  my  friends ;  and  if  I  had, 
no  messenger  from  Carlo  Zeno's  bidding  need 
tremble  to  enter  Francesco  da  Carrara's  palace." 

"Good,"  said  Carrara,  smiling;  "bolder 
stdl !  ever  if  you  are  bold,  be  so  to  the  full. 
You  count  rightly  on  your  protection,  and  we 
must  not  question  your  allegiance.  But  enough 
of  that.  Tell  Messer  Carlo  Zeno  that  his  bid- 
ding shall  be  obeyed,  and  he  shall  hear  from  me 
in  Venice.  Trust  me,  I  will  not  be  too  late  ; 
so  that  you  have  sped  as  well  now,  sir  youth, 
as  you  did  in  Chiozza  ;  and  if  all  my  friends 
had  been  as  faithful  and  as  bold  as  you  are, 
you  might  then  have  missed  your  aim." 

Ranieri  reverently  took  leave. 

Scarcely  had  he  departed,  when  another  was 
ushered  into  Carrara's  presence  —  the  tali 
square  form  of  Alessandro  da  Padova,  daunt- 
less and  unabashed  ;  not  bolder  than  the  mes- 
senger who  had,  unknown  to  him,  gone  before, 
but  with  a  fierce  instead  of  gentle  bearing. 
Carrara  rose  from  his  seat  with  the  air  of  him 
who  desires  to  be  on  equal  terms  with  "a  dan- 
gerous guest.  Not  that  he  could  overtop  the 
towering  form  of  the  adventurer ;  but  standing, 
he  could  more  freely  speak,  turn,  and  even 
think. 

"  Be  welcome,  Messer  Alessandro.  What 
news  from  that  Venice  whose  victory  is  youi 
defeat  r' 

"  News,  my  lord,  of  reviving  hopes,  if  you 
will  lend  your  power  in  aid.  Not  to  stay  you 
long— nor  myself,  for  I  must  return  betimes — I 
am  messenger  to  you  from  Mesers  Barbarigo 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


119 


and  your  friends  in  the  republic,  who  have  al- 
ready half  won  the  field.  Messer  Marco  Mor- 
osini  has  joined  u>  even  more  usefully  than 
ever;  and  now  he  knows  how  we  are  to  in- 
vite your  alliance.  He  at  last  is  one  of  your 
friends." 

"  Why  that  is  most  excellent — if  it  were  a 
vear  or  two  sooner." 

"  You  may  jest,  Messer  da  Carrara  ;  but  the 
thing  is  good,  happen  when  it  rnay  ;  and  you 
shall  yet  retake,  not  only  Chiozza,  but  Venice 
itself  after  your  own  best  fashion — that  is,  by 
cunning  instead  of  force.  We  have,  too,  so 
a.-:sailed  Contarini  through  one  of  his  best 
props,  that  he  cannot  but  fall :  we  have,  and 
partly  by  your  help,  already  brought  Carlo  Zeno 
to  be  a  prisoner  before  Venice  :  and  now  you 
may  smile  again,  for  we  made  bold  to  accuse 
him  of  a  secret  conspiracy  with  you." 

"With  me!  Carlo  Zeno!"  cried  Carrara, 
•angrily.     "How  is  this]" 

"  Be  not  surprised,  nor  take  it  amiss,  for  we 
will  make  it  all  turn  to  your  profit."  And  he 
recounted  how,  when  Chiozza  was  captured, 
the  paper  vv.:s  found  proving  that  Zeno  had  re- 
ceived gold  I'rom  the  Lord  of  Padua ;  how  he 
liad  been  puMicly  accused  on  that  proof;  how 
many  more  senators  had  been  gained  over ; 
and  how,  in  l)rief  time,  there  was  good  hope 
of  making  Marco  Morosini  doge  of  Venice.  He 
told  how  he  himself  was  to  be  the  son-in-law  of 
the  future  doge  ;  wherein,  by  the  bye,  he  claim- 
ed Carrara's  help.  "  Thus,  my  lord,  you  see 
how  Contarini's  |K)wer  decays  before  us.  At 
present  our  only  demand  from  you  is  that  you 
.should  aid  us  in  bringing  home  this  crime  to 
Carlo  Zeno.  Give  us  proof — whatever  the  gold 
passed  between  you  for,  give  us  proof  of  his 
treason.  This  service  shall  hereafter  help  to 
reconcile  you  to  Venice — no  difficult  task  for 
your  so  many  and  so  powerful  friends,  when 
once  they  have  their  own  doge.  For  we  are 
now  so  many  —  though  all  do  not  know  all 
their  ov/n  alhes — that  even  the  twisted  and 
manifold  elections  of  electors  can  scarcely  pre- 
vent the  last  vote  from  turning  up  our  own  man 
for  doge." 

"Good!    ThatisalH" 

"  All  as  yet." 

Carrara  pondered,  and  took  a  step  or  two 
away.  Then  turning  to  Alcssandro,  and  raising 
his  face,  he  said,  "  Say  to  Messer  Barbarigo, 
that  they  shall  hear  from  me  in  Venice." 

"I  counted  on  your  aid,"  exclaimed  Alcs- 
sandro, with  an  exulting  smile.  "  The  manner 
of  your  proof  may  best  be  left  to  you.  My  lord, 
I  crave  license  to  depart ;  for  my  presence 
must  not  be  missed  in  Venice." 

"You  do  well  to  return  right  speedily;  and 
I  will  make  no  delay.  Cut  first  make  this 
house  your  own  for  some  hasty  refreshing  of 
yourself,  and  then  you  shall  have  leave." 

"  Not  a  moment,  my  lord  ;  for  every  minute 
that  I  lose  is  dangerous." 

"  Farewell,  then  You  shall  scarcely  out- 
strip me." 


CHAPTER  T,VII. 

The  day  was  rapidly  closing  when  Alessan- 
dio  regained  his  noble  foster  brother's  palace  ; 


but  so  intent  was  he  upon  h.s  plans,  that  he 
scarcely  noted  the  change  fioni  light  to  dark, 
or  the  familiar  path  he  followed.  Little  thought 
the  brawny  boatmen,  as  they  made  their  barque 
fly  across  the  waters,  that  Venice  would  have 
shuddered  and  shrieked  aloud  at  their  approach, 
had  it  known  the  danger  that  lurked  in  that 
moveless  and  silent  form  ;  little  feared  the  cit- 
izens that  now  strolled  at  ease  across  the  piazza 
of  St.  Stephen,  the  evil  genius  of  the  city,  as 
he  stalked  by  with  hasty  strides.  He  saw  the 
dangers  before  him,  but  felt  his  strength  wax 
with  the  need.  Carrara  crushed  and  baffled  in 
the  field,  yet  still  powerful,  seemed  more  than 
ever  ductile  to  his  will ;  his  foster  brother  grew 
stronger  to  use,  and  more  wilhng  to  be  used; 
his  most  powerful,  most  contemptuous,  because 
least  mindful  enemy,  his  chief  hate,  the  virtu- 
ous Carlo  Zeno,  appealed  for  mercy  against  hia 
accusal,  to  tribunals  filled  with  those  whose 
honor  or  whose  wisdom  he  had  corrupted  ;  hia 
own  advancement  by  marriage,  too  long  de- 
layed, only  awaited  his  matured  contrivance  ; 
and  as  he  neared  the  fair  city  rising  from  the 
waters,  he  sneered  at  the  thought  that  the 
great  republic  itself  was  but  a  tool  to  further 
the  designs  of  a  bastard  adventurer.  He  landed 
and  trod  its  paved  way  as  if  the  place  were 
already  his  own.  None  crossed  his  path  as  he 
entered  the  palace  and  went  straight  across  the 
hall  to  his  own  apartment.  Within  the  house 
it  now  seemed  almost  dark  to  him  who  came 
from  without ;  but  every  corner  was  too  familiar 
for  him  to  need  a  light ;  and  occupied  with  his 
own  thoughts  he  moved  rapidly  on,  careless  of 
looking  around  him.  He  had  already  made 
some  steps  into  his  saloon,  when  from  a  scat 
that  he  had  not  noticed  rose  up  into  the  dim 
light  of  the  window,  the  form  of  a  tall  and 
stately  woman.  He  knew  that  it  was  Rosa 
Bardossi ;  and  he  started  as  he  saw  her,  with 
a  sting  of  fear  and  anger  ;  for  in  all  the  trium- 
phant career  of  his  thoughts  he  had  met  with 
no  let  or  hindrance,  till  now  arose  before  him 
his  only  obstacle — arose  before  him  where  least 
of  all  he  could  have  looked  for  it.  Slopping,  he 
stamped  with  sudden  anger,  and  cried, — "  But 
how  is  thisl  is  it  you,  Rosa,  and  here'!  how 
have  you  dared  to  come  hither  1" 

"  It  is  I,  Alessandro,"  replied  the  woman, 
calmly  ;  "  would  that  I  were  not  here," 

"  And  know  you  not  that  I  have  said  that  I 
will  have  no  woman  with  me  in  this  palace ; 
that  none  should  follow  me,  none  in  the  world  1" 

"  I  know  that  you  have  said  so,  and  while 
you  held  that  law  I  never  came." 

Alessandro  was  silent :  it  puzzled  him  to  un- 
derstand her  words  ;  but  not  caring  to  trouble 
himself  with  searching  deep  into  her  feelings, 
for  now  they  little  imported  him,  he  at  once 
assumed  that  she  was  jealous.  He  felt  half 
glad  of  the  pretext  for  anger,  and  already  saw 
Ml  the  quarrel  the  means  of  removing  her.  His 
growing  disinclination,  too,  gained  strength  at 
finding  so  weak  a  passion  in  her  who  bad  here- 
tofore ruled  even  him  more  than  he  liked  ;  and 
it  was  with  a  heartfelt  sneer  that  he  said, — "  I 
did  not  think,  Rosa,  that  you  wore  so  far  like 
other  women  as  to  be  a  spy  upon  me  for  jea- 
lousy !  I  have  no  woman  here,  and  I  will  have 
none  ;  last  of  all  such  a  one.  Go  at  once,  bo- 
fore  we  grow  more  angry." 


120 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


*'  I  am  not  jealous,  Alessandro  ;  and  I  do  not 
suspect  you  of  so  much  love  that  you  have 
enough  even  for  me,  much  less  for  more.  It  is 
not  in  love  that  you  have  brought  others  here, 
and  yet  perforce  must  I  follow." 

"  What  is  it  you  mean  V 

"  (}ive  me  back  Teresa." 

"Teresa!  What  is  thisi  Am  I  Teresa's 
Keeper,  that  you  should  ask  me  for  herl  What 
idle  folly  is  this!     Go!" 

"  You  are  not  Teresa's  keeper ;  but  I  was. 
I  am  accountable  for  her,  and  I  will  have  her. 
Think  nut  to  put  me  off  with  idle  pretences.  If 
you  thought  me  not  one  to  be  jealous,  so  I  think 
you  not  one  to  make  silly  pretences,  that  are 
seen  through  even  before  they  are  finislied. 
Teresa  is  here — she  has  gone  from  my  keeping, 
and  none  other  would  have  dared  to  take  her." 

"  Why,  then,  I  say  I  took  her  not." 

"  Prevaricate  no  more,  Alessandro.  She  has 
been  brought  to  you.  If  your  own  hands  had 
done  all  your  evil  deeds,  you  would  have  less 
to  answer.  Give  her  back  to  me,  or  I  must  do 
what  truly  I  should  grieve  to  do,  even  more 
than  if  we  had  not  quarreled  ;  for  I  would  not 
have  my  truth  and  service  to  that  good  lady 
take  the  shape  of  revenge.  Give  her  back  to 
me,  Alessandro,  before  farther  harm  is  done." 

"  I  will  pretend  with  you  no  more,  Rosa. 
The  woman  I  have  not  taken,  and  I  have  her 
not  here ;  but  she  has  been  taken,  and  she  is 
kept  for  my  use,  being  not  the  first  prisoner 
that  I  have  kept  in  store  to  serve  my  purpose 
at  need.  Know  that  she  is  necessary  to  my 
plans,  and  threaten  no  more  ;  for  that  is  the 
idlest  of  all.  You  have  no  power  save  through 
me.  Be  content  to  know  that  you  cannot  have 
her.    Go  home  and  think  no  more  of  this  thmg." 

"  Not  so,  Alessandro  ;  you  know  not  the 
strength  of  my  will,  for  hitherto  it  has  jumped 
with  yours  ;  but  now  that  you  will  not  have  it 
with  you,  you  must  feel  it  against  you  ;  and  in 
truth  I  will  have  the  lady  back  in  safely,  or,  as 
I  said,  it  shall  be  worse  for  one  of  us  two." 

"  I  have  said  it ;  you  shall  not  have  her.  Go 
home,  Rosa;  go  home." 

Rosa  was  silent — not  that  she  felt  quite  baf- 
fled, for  she  had  not  thought  that  the  Paduan 
would  give  up  his  prize  so  easily ,-  but  her 
heart  trembled  at  the  contest  which  still  she 
had  resolution  to  begin.  Alessandro  moved 
away  from  her,  as  if  to  leave  the -room;  not 
desiring  to  force  her  away,  and  yet  deternnned 
to  end  the  conference. 

"  Stay,"  she  cried.  "  Alessandro,  I  must 
have  tins  lady  at  all  price  :  there  is  nothing  tliat 
I  will  not  yield  to  have  her  by  gentle  means  or 
by  force  ;  you  have  refused  her  at  my  asking, 
and  I  must  seek  other  aid.  Hitherto  I  have  not 
troubled  you.  All  that  you  have  done,  wrong 
as  right,  have  I  seen  in  silence,  and  suffered  to 
pass  by.  But  this  I  will  not  suffer — this  I  will 
not  allow  :  I  shall  call  the  aid  of  Sebastian. 
Aye,  you  listen  to  me  now.  I  will  have  the  aid 
of  Carlo  Zeno " 

"  Silence,  Rosa  ;  there  is  danger  in  what  you 
eay  ;  be  siknt." 

"  I  care  not  for  danger,  for  in  this  I  will  have 
my  will.  I  say  that  I  will  have  the  help  of 
Carlo  Zeno  :  and  you  must  needs  know  tiiat  if 
once  Zeno  help  me  to  hunt  throughout  your 
secret  places,  and  follow  you  in  all  your  lo^ls,  I 


can  no  more  stop  him  than  you  can  stop  the 
sea  after  the  dyke  is  once  broken.  Now  give 
me  this  lady,  and  think  no  more  of  me.  Give  her 
to  me,  and  I  trouble  you  no  more." 

It  was  Alessandro's  turn  to  be  silent.  In 
the  bold  career  of  his  thought  as  he  entered  the 
palace,  he  had  stumbled  upon  an  obstruction  in 
his  path.  It  had  too  often  crossed  him  before  ; 
but  now  as  he  strove  to  overpass  it,  it  seemed 
to  rise  before  his  feet,  and  he  felt  like  one  in  a 
dream,  to  whom  some  little  thing  that  hinders 
his  v.-ay  grows  up  to  be  a  monster  threatening 
him  with  destruction.  His  was  not  a  heart  to 
quail  or  to  turn  tender  where  danger  threatened 
himself  Before  Rosa  had  ceased  speaking,  he 
had  resolved  to  rid  himself  of  this  trouble.  Ro- 
sa was  with  him  alone  ;  it  was  dark  ;  he  had 
but  to  move  his  finger  to  fasten  the  door ;  there 
were  weapons,  many  of  them,  within  his  reach  ; 
his  sword  was  by  his  side,  and  his  dagger  too. 
As  to  blood,  if  it  had  to  be  spilt,  he  could  have 
cleared  away  that  sign.  Whatsoever  his  bold, 
bad  mind  should  wish  to  do  within  that  room,  he 
could  do,  and  could  so  contrive  that  none  should 
ever  call  him  to  account ;  and  yet  perhaps  the 
thouglit  of  raising  his  hand  against  the  girl  who 
so  audaciously  braved  liiin,  scarcely  entered  his 
mind.  His  left  hand  grasped  the  scabbard  ol 
his  sword,  as  the  familiar  habit  of  an  angry  man, 
hut  he  had  no  thouglit  of  using  it ;  and  yet  the 
thought  that  was  in  him,  more  than  rage,  made 
his  firmly-knit  limbs  tremble.  It  was  with  a 
hoarser  voice  that  he  said, — "  Rosa,  you  have 
spoken  too  far.  You  threaten  me  with  Sebas- 
tian and  with  Zeno ;  let  them  come  :  I  shall  be 
loo  strong  for  them.  But,  Rosa  mia,  I  would 
not  part  with  you  thus  ;  I  could,  you  know,  stop 
you  in  your  way  to  Sebastian  ;  I  could  do  so  that 
you  would  never  reach  him  ;  but  heretofore  have 
I  trusted  you,  and  I  have  said  that  rather  will 
I  brave  the  danger  that  lies  in  your  knowledge 
than  close  my  mouth  to  the  one  in  the  world 
whom  I  have  loved  best.  Go  :  fetch  whom  you 
will  to  destroy  me  ;  I  will  not  yield,  but  I  will 
run  this  risk  ;  and  for  the  love  that  was  once 
between  us  I  will  suffer  the  peril." 

After  a  little  pause,  Rosa  replied, — "  You  now 
try  my  constancy  with  a  new  wile,  but  it  will 
not  serve  you,  Alessandro.  It  is  right  and  good 
that  I  should  have  back  this  lady,  and  have  her 
back  I  will.  You  are  in  no  danger  from  me  ;  your 
secrets  are  safe  as  ever,  so  far  as  I  know  them  ; 
for  not  even  torture  shall  force  them  from  my 
li|)s.  But  I  will  have  back  the  lady,  even 
though  I  call  all  Venice  to  fetch  her  ;  and  1 
know  not — you  may  know,  but  I  know  not, 
whether,  if  I  bring  you  enemies  into  this  room, 
they  may  not  learn  more  than  I  mean.  So  give 
her  to  me  without  more  words,  and,  for  the  love 
that  was  between  us,  let  your  schemes  be  mar- 
red so  far." 

"  Rosa,  you  have  conquered  more  than  any 
yet  conquered  me.  You  shall  have  her.  You 
shall  have  her  safe  as  when  last  you  saw  her ; 
only  this  I  must  crave,  that  some  few  days  you 
wait,  that  I  may  yield  her  up  without  quite 
spoiling  my  fortunes.  Trust  me,  you  shall  have 
her." 

"  And  how  soon  1" 

"  ifou  are  impatient.  Say  that  you  wait 
three  days ;  two  days,  if  you  will.  You  shall 
have  her  in  two  days,  and  as  safe  as  when  she 


THE  FOSTER  BROTIFER. 


121 


lell  you  : — will  that  content  you  1  Leave  me 
two  days  in  peace — two  whole  days, — and  on 
the  third  day,  even  at  sunrise,  or  before  that, 
the  lady  shall  be  brought  back  to  you  safe  and 
well.     Will  that  content  you  1" 

"Your  voice  sounds  strange  while  you  say 
this,  Alessandro  ;  I  never  heard  it  sound  so  be- 
fore.    Do  you  speak  in  good  laithl" 

"  I  have  tokl  you,  Rosa,  that  while  in  all  the 
world  I  have  used  guile  and  force  and  cruelty 
to  meet  the  evils  thrust  upon  me  by  my  base 
birth,  to  you  alone  I  have  been  frank  and  kind. 
Even  as  men  whom  they  fain  to  have  been  en- 
chanted, and  who  have  had  some  fatal  place 
left  where  you  migiit  strike  them  to  their  death, 
so  am  I  invulnerable  to  all  the  world,  yet 
doomed  myself  to  make  this  one  place  where  I 
can  be  stricken.  Leave  me  now.  The  lady 
shall  be  with  you  on  the  morning  of  the  third 
day." 

"  I  will  take  that  promise,  Alessandro.  Two 
days  you  shall  not  see  me,  and  on  the  third  day 
the  lady  shall  return,  or  I  will  again  come  to 
know  why  it  is  you  keep  her  :  farewell." 

She  turned  from  him  and  went  from  the  room. 
Alessandro  could  not  say  farewell,  for  the  word 
stuck  in  his  throat.  He  listened  to  her  foot- 
steps soon  lost  in  the  distance  of  the  wide  hall. 
He  waited  still  longer,  and  at  last,  knowing 
that  she  must  be  quite  gone,  he  went  out  again 
into  the  air,  and  had  already  walked  a  few 
steps,  like  one  bent  upon  a  journey,  when  a 
man  stopped  him. 

"  A  most  happy  evening  to  you,  Messer  Ales- 
sandro," said  the  coarse  but  feeble  voice  of  Na- 
dale.  "  I  had  well  nigh  missed  you ;  for  I 
came-  to  ask  when  I  should  bring  home  that 
piece  of  goods  that  I  have  in  keeping  for  you  V 

"  I,  too,  was  seeking  you  :  follow  me,  and  we 
will  talk  within."  Alessandro  turned  back  ; 
and  presently  they  were  in  his  own  room. 

"  I  was  saying  to  you,  Messer  Alessandro," 
said  the  fellow,  with  his  brutal  ease,  that  I 
want  to  know  when  I  shall  bring  home  that 
piece  of  goods;  for  it  keeps  ill,  I  say.  For  all 
her  fairness  and  her  pretty  voice,  the  lady  is 
stiff-necked,  and  as  fierce  as  a  she-bear.  I  had 
three  good  strong  ones  with  me  when  I  took 
her  that  night,  for  1  would  not  trust  myself, 
seeing  that  I  have  been  a  poor,  weak  wretch 
ever  since  her  friend  so  favored  me  in  the  pi- 
azza. How  can  a  man  be  strong  whose  jaw  is 
so  twisted  tiiat  he  cannot  chew  his  victuals] 
and  1  tell  you  that  it  takes  me  some  hour  to 
get  through  a  loaf,  though  it  be  no  bigger  than 
that  fist.  I  thought  the  old  fisherman  was 
enough  for  me  ;  and  truly  I  should  have  found 
him  too  much,  but  that  after  the  lady  had  faint- 
ed, one  of  the  others  got  him  down  cleverly 
with  a  knife.  Well,  and  now  I  have  her  at 
home,  she  will  not  eat,  she  looks  as  if  she 
could  eat  well  enough,  for  she  never  weeps  or 
moans,  or  such  things  ;  and  though  I  try  to 
move  her  spirit  by  sneering  at  her  young  gen- 
tleman who  put  my  beard  in  such  di.sorder,  and 
any  other  fancies  that  I  can  think  of,  still  she 
eats  not ;  and  in  sooth  she  has  not  eaten  nor 
drunk  any  thing  since  I  carried  her  away.  I 
dare  say  she  thinks  it  is  poisoned  ;  and  I  can- 
not convince  her  how  silly  it  would  be  to  buy 
wine  to  poison  her  withal,  when  I  could  finish 
Uer  at  the  cost  of  wiping  my  knife." 


While  the  man  was  talking,  Alessandro  pa- 
ced the  room  in  thought,  but  half  hearing  what 
he  said. 

"  Tell  me  when  I  may  bring  her  home,  Me.s- 
ser  Alessandro  1" 

The  Paduan  stood  still.  "  You  may  bum 
her  here  at  once,  into  this  palace  ;  but  not  inti. 
my  lodging  here.  I  will  provide  a  room  for  her 
before  you  bring  her.  You  will  be  the  freer  to 
do  some  other  duty  for  me.  Do  you  know  Rosa 
Bardossir' 

"Rosa  Bardossil  No;  I  know  no  other 
Pv,osa  but  one  whom  you  know  of  too." 

"It  is  the  same— she  I  mean  who  lived  near 
the  old  fisherman." 

"  Aye,  I  know  her." 

"She  is  to  come  to  me  in  three  days  ;  but  I 
wish  not  to  see  her — she  troubles  me."  Ales- 
sandro drew  from  his  breast  a  purse,  and  open- 
ing it,  he  slowly  took  out  some  money  which 
he  placed  in  Nadale's  hand. 

"  One — two.  They  are  ducats,  I  think,  Mes- 
ser Alessandro  V 

"The  same;  if  they  arc  not  so,  give  them 
back  to  me,  and  we  will  fetch  a  light,  that  you 
may  have  your  price." 

"  No,  no — they  are  ducats  ;  I  know  them  by 
the  feel.     But  they  are  only  two." 

"  They  are  only  two.  Here  are  two  more, 
which  I  will  give  you  for  this — that  you  shall 
let  me  know  when  you  have  finished." 

"  Why,  you  give  me  but  two  to  bring  you 
the  news,  and  two  to — you  know  what :  there 
is  no  sense  in  that  sort  of  bargaining,  Messer 
Alessandro." 

"  You  never  have  more  than  two  !" 

"  No,  I  know  ;  but  this  is  not  a  common  sort 
of  business.  Besides,  you  give  me  only  two  to 
do  it,  and  yet  you  give  me  as  much  as  two  to 
bring  you  the  news.  Your  own  price  is  against 
you." 

"Talk  no  more,  ribald.  So  a'Aay,  or  give 
me  back  the  money." 

"Nay,  nay,  I  meant  no  offence,  signor  mio. 
Truly,  I  may  have  to  walk  as  far  to  earn  these 
two  ducats  in  my  left  hand  here  as  these  two 
in  my  right.     Where  may  I  find  the  ladyl" 

"  You  know  where  she  lives." 

"  Aye ;  but  I  did  not  know  whether  you 
would  like  it  done  at  home  or  abroad." 

"I  care  not  which,  so  that  it  be  done  as  se- 
cretly as  you  can  do,  and  have  done  before. 
Let  us  have  no  more  words  about  it ;  be- 
gone." 

Nadale  started,  and  shambling  out  of  the 
room,  he  cried,  gayly  jingling  his  ducats — "A 
most  happy  evening  to  you,  Messer  Alessan- 
dro." 


CHAPTER  Lvrn. 

Sound  was  the  sleep  of  .Alessandro  that  night; 
for  strong  in  body  and  mind,  few  things  ever 
disturbed  the  few  hours  that  he  alolted  to  his 
bed.  He  was  aroused  betimes  by  a  servant, 
who  told  him  that  one  d(>sired  to  speak  with 
him.  Hastily  donning  his  clothes,  he  repaired 
to  his  saloon.  When  he  entered,  a  young  man, 
who  was  lounging  carelessly  in  a  chair,  rose 
briskly  to  greet  him. 


U2 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


It  was  young  Francesco  da  Carrara,  who  sa- 
luted hirii  gnyly,  but  not  too  familiarly.  "Be 
well,  Messer  Alessandro,  1  cornea  ffiessenger to 
you." 

"  Your  father  is  quick,  Messer  Francesco,  as 
is  his  wont.     What  says  heV 

"This.— But  first  tell  me,  is  Messer  Marco 
.Morosiiu  (if  the  signory  now." 

"  He  is  so." 

"Thai  is  well.  I-ct  there  be  a  meeting  of  the 
signory,  to  hear  what  the  Lord  of  Padua  shall 
disclose  touching  the  thing  you  wot  of,  and 
there  shall  be  one  there  to  declare  it.  Can  that 
be  donel" 

"  Doubt  it  not." 

"  And  forthwith  1" 

"  This  day,  if  you  will.  But  what  message 
has  your  falher  bethought  him  to  send]" 

"  Why,  that  must  not  be  known  till  it  be  de- 
livered ;  for  with  all  his  craft,  as  Messer  Ales- 
sandro knows  full  well,  he  ever  uses  to  mix 
something  that  is  true  to  give  it  the  better 
.show.  And  this  matter,  he  says,  will  have 
more  force  on  men's  m.inds  if  it  come  suddenly. 
It  were  better  that  you  should  he  astonished 
than  be  forced  merely  to  seem  so." 

"Most  true.  Will  your  faiher's  message  be 
ready  for  the  signory  this  day  1" 

"At  what  hour  you  please." 

"  Why  then  you  have  brought  itl  Say  at  once; 
for  the  signory  will  sit  anon,  in  expectation  of 
your  father's  visit." 

"  Be  it  so.  But  first  for  another  matter.  Be- 
fore I  leave  tins  house,  I  would  see  the  lady 
Angiolina."  In  spite  of  his  habitual  self-com- 
mand, Alessandro  started.  "  Fear  not,"  contin- 
ued Francesco;  "I  am  no  importunate  suitor; 
but  it  concerns  me  nearly  to  see  the  lady." 

"  I  had  thought,  Messer  Francesco,  that  your 
suit  prospered  not  well,  since  you  came  no  more 
after  that  night." 

"  Talk  not  of  it,  Messer  Alessandro.  If  I 
knew  that  I  had  a  rival,  perchance  I  might  let 
him  know  how  far  I  prospered,  and  how  pleased 
I  was." 

Alessandro  hesitated.  "  I  would  not  do  aught 
that  might  displease  the  lady  Angiolina." 

"  What  is  it  you  fear,  Messer  Alessandro]  I 
1.00  will  do  nought  that  can  offend  her;  still  less 
be  so  humble  as  to — but  enough  :  I  seek  but  a 
solace  of  my  mind." 

"Have  you  conversed  with  your  father] — for 
I  would  not  that  he  were  wronged." 

"What  is  it  your  fear]  We  do  not  use  to 
tell  our  fathers  of  all  our  loves;  least  of  all 
where  we  fail ;  or  they  must  he  men  of  bolder 
face  than  I  am  that  would  do  so.  Shall  I  see 
herl" 

"You  shall." 

"  And  alone]" 

"Alone;  and  at  once  if  you  wish;  for  she 
rises  betimes.  Wait  a  while,  and  I  will  see  if 
you  can  he  admitted." 

"  You  will  not  say  that  I  am  come." 

"  J  will  say  nothing."  The  foster  brother  left 
the  saloon  ;  but  presently  returning,  he  beckon- 
ed, and  Francesco  followed  him. 

"You  know  whither  I  lead  you]"  said  Ales- 
.sandro 

"Nc 

"  To  the  terrace  ;  whence  you  came  that  night 
that  you  visited  it  in  secret,  and  then  met  me 


so  maladroitly  in  this  hall,  and  were  somewhat 
roughly  rebuked  " 

"  Now  I  remember  well ;  but  I  remember  not 
the  rebuke.     I  met  no  one." 

"  Your  memory  is  gay,  Messer  Francesco,  and 
dwells  not  upon  what  is  displeasing." 

Francesco  answered  not;  for  he  knew  not 
Alessandro's  purpose  in  speaking  thus  ;  as  in- 
deed he  could  not  remember  the  rebuke  which 
was  not  made  to  him,  but  Edward.  Alessandro 
gently  opened  the  door  of  the  terrace,  and  let- 
ting his  companion  in,  closed  it  again.  Angiolina 
walked  on  the  other  side  of  the  orange  trees  ;  but 
at  the  sound  of  the  closing  door,  she  turned. 
How  changed  !  The  full  round  face  and  form 
had  fallen  to  slenderer  proportions  ;  the  rich 
blood  that  mantled  in  her  cheek  had  flowed  hack 
to  the  heart,  and  the  darkness  of  her  skin  did 
not  conceal  the  paleness  ;  the  eyes  once  so  gay 
and  sparkling,  were  now  softer,  sad,  and  stead- 
fast, as  fixed  on  mournful  thoughts ;  and  her 
bearing  was  slower — a  little  gain  of  dignity  at 
a  dismal  cost.  Yet  looked  she  so  gentle,  so 
graceful,  and  so  tender,  that  love  itself  borrowed 
her  mood,  and  worshipped  her  less  in  the  raptu- 
rous adoration  that  her  growing  beauties  once 
awakened,  than  in  a  tender  submission  that 
bowed  itself  yet  lower  before  her  fallen  spirit. 
She  started  not  when  she  saw  Francesco,  but 
moving  a  step  or  two  to  meet  him,  she  held  out 
her  hand.     He  kissed  it  right  humbly. 

"Is  it  yet  safe  for  you  to  venture  so  far  within 
a  Venetian  house,  Messer  Francesco  I"  she 
asked. 

"  None  is  more  welcome  in  this  house  this 
day  than  I  am,  lady  mine  ;  and  it  is  for  you  to 
say  whether  1  have  ventured  too  far." 

"  I  spake  not  with  that  meaning,  but  only 
thought  of  your  safety." 

"Why,  then,  Angiolina.  it  is  of  your  safety  we 
must  talk ;  for,  my  life,  though  it  makes  me  a 
happier  and  a  better  man  to  see  you,  yet  I  came, 
believe  it,  not  for  that,  but  solely  to  see  if  I 
might  serve  you." 

"  Serve  me,  Francesco  I     In  what  ]" 

Francesco  looked  round,  to  see  if  he  was 
watched.  But  the  door  was  firmly  closed,  and 
Alessandro  had  really  left  him  alone;  for  the 
Paduan  had  no  pettiness  in  his  guile,  and  he  little 
feared  or  cared  for  a  rival.  Francesco  again 
took  his  companion's  hand,  and  kissing  it  re- 
spectfully, he  said, — "Do you  remember,  Angio- 
lina, that  night  when  we  conversed  together 
here]"  Angiolina  turned  away  her  head:  she 
did  remember,  not  only  what  passed  between 
them,  but  the  sweeter  things  that  had  passed 
afterwards;  and  still  she  felt  a  kindness  towards 
the  young  lord  of  Padua,  for  that  he  seemed 
to  belong  to  that  dear  night.  He  continued  : — 
"Angiolina,  you  then,  my  sweet,  in  your  kind- 
ness, told  me  that  I  asked  for  your  heart  too 
late.  Dearest  lady,  when  1  heard  that — I  do  not 
know  why,  but  I  believe  that  the  love  of  one  so 
good  as  you  inakcs  the  lover  good  in  all  that 
concerns  his  love  ;  but  when  I  heard  that,  my 
own  love  became  less  in  my  esteem  than  yours, 
and  I  wished  you  happier  than  I  could  be." 
Angiolina  pressed  his  hand.  Moving  from  him, 
she  took  a  scat ;  but  then,  while  she  covered 
her  eyes,  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  again. 
He  learned  from  its  trembling  why  she  bad  sat 
down.    "  Angiolina,  dearest,  I  fear,  from  what  I 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


123 


<«ee  in  your  aspect,  that  you  are  not  happy," — 
again  she  pressed  his  hand  in  answer — "  but 
know  not  if  you  yourself  are  aware  of  all  that 
threalens  you.  Tell  me  this,  Angiolina,  and 
paidon  me  if  I  offend  you  ;  for  I  ask  it  only  vviih 
most  humble  interest  in  your  service, — tell  me, 
was  Alessandro  da  Padova  he  of  whom  you 
spake  that  night  V 

"Francesco!"  cried  Angiolina,  turning  to  him; 
her  astonishment  overmastering  her  grief. 

"Angiolina!  you  do  not  mean  that  it  wasl 
Tell  me,  sweet ;  for  the  doubt  troubles  me." 

"  How  could  you  think  it  1  But  much  more  it 
troubles  me  to  hear  your  question." 

"Then,  Angiolina,  still  more  I  fear  to  tell  you 
all ;  but  it  must  be  done.  Do  not  say  any  name 
out  loud,  for  I  cannot  tell  who  may  listen.  Know 
you  that  Alessandro  dares  to  seek  your  love!" 
The  girl  listened  in  terrified  amaze.  "Aye,  I 
have  so  learned  it,  that  there  can  be  no  mis- 
take;  but  thus  it  is."  Angiolina  grasped  his 
hand  with  both  hers  ;  she  glanced  around,  as  if 
she  sought  some  flight ;  she  would  have  spoken, 
but  spf-^.:h  failed ;  and  looking  with  helpless 
terror  in  his  face,  her  head  sunk  on  his  should- 
er. He  passed  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and 
went  on.  "Dearest  Angiolina,  be  not  thus  in 
fear  :  it  cannot  and  shall  not  be,  if  you  will  trust 
rae,  and  use  but  your  (ywn  courage.  Did  you 
not  know  of  this  before  1"  Without  rising,  she 
shook  her  head.  "But  I  do  suspect  your  father 
does."  A  little  shudder  passed  over  her.  "  Now 
tell  me,  Angiolina  mine,  who  it  was  that  you 
thouglit  of  when  you  spoke  that  night — tell  me, 
and  shame  not  to  speak  freely  to  your  old  play- 
mate." Angiolina  rose  from  his  shoulder,  and 
again  turned  away.  "Tell  me — you  will  not  fear 
to  tel)  Francesco — who  was  in  your  thought  1" 

In  a  voice  that  he  could  scarcely  hear,  she 
said, — "  I  thought  then  of  one  you  know  not." 

"  His  name  V 

"It  was  Odoardo,  I'lnglese." 

"The  Englishman  !  I  know  him  well,  and  so 
did  all  in  Cliiozza.  Why  then,  Angiolina,  I  owe 
him  a  life  ;  and  I  shall  pay  him  more  richly,  if  I 
give  him  love.  Does  your  father  know  of  this 
gentleman  1"  She  nodded.  "And  hence  your 
unhappiness.  You  need  say  no  more,  but  this — 
Do  you  consent  to  remain  to  be  given  to  Messer 
Alessandro  da  Padova  1 

"Forgive  me,  Francesco,"  she  said,  turning 
to  him,  "  if  I  do  not  thank  you  as  I  ought;  but 
I  am  so  wretched  and  so  scared  I  Oh,  my  dear 
friend,  save  me  from  that,  and  I  care  not  what 
happens." 

"  Why  then,  sweetest  life,  be  of  good  cour- 
age ;  be  discreet,  let  me  bestow  you  where  you 
ought  to  be  bestowed,  and  thus  I  will  rescue 
you.  This  have  I  had  at  heart  in  coming  to 
Venice.  And  now  that  I  may  do  it,  I  must  bid 
you  farewell." 

"  How  faithful  and  generous  have  you  ever 
been  to  me,  Francesco  ;  and  how  ill  have  I  re- 
paid you  !  Why  do  these  things  happen — why 
am  I  so  unhappy  as  to  be  too  well  loved  by  you 
who  should  love  one  as  good  as  yourself." 

"Sweetest,  I  told  you,  on  that  night,  that  if 
you  would  love  me  and  have  me,  I  should  be 
the  better  and  the  happier  man.  That  was  too 
high  a  fortune  for  me.  But  yet  am  I  better  and 
happier  for  that  J  love  you  ;  for  that  I  may 
serve  vou  ;  and  'br  that  you  speak  to  me  thus. 


I  have  warred  for  Venice,  but  now  much  more 
bravely  for  one  kind  word,  or  to  conquer  from 
grief  and  give  to  tenderness  one  tear  of  those 
dearest  eyes.  Farewell,  my  sweet  friend  :  think 
of  me  ever,  if  not  as  one  who  loves  "  He  kiss- 
ed her  hand  ;  but  putting  the  other  on  his  head 
as  he  slooped  do-wn,  Angiolina  kissed  him.  first 
on  the  forehead  and  then  on  the  eyes.  "  Be 
silent,  and  be  of  good  heart,"  he  said,  as  he  left 
the  terrace. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

So  long  had  young  Francesco  remained  witn 
Angiolina,  that  when  he  reached  the  ducal  pal- 
ace he  found  without  the  door  of  the  hall  in 
which  the  signory  were  sitting,  a  messenger 
who  had  been  sent  to  seek  him,  and  to  usher 
him  into  their  presence.  The  dignity  and  pow- 
er which  he  was  to  encounter  could  not  repress 
his  feeling  of  amusement,  almost  of  sport,  at  the 
confusion  into  which  he  was  sent  to  throw  the 
republic.  It  was  some  revenge  to  him  for  the 
humiliation  which  he  had  endured  as  his  father's 
proxy  when  he  last  stood  before  its  high  offi- 
cers ;  but  he  repressed  any  show  of  this  careless 
feeling,  and  entered  the  council  chamber  with 
the  courteous  yet  dignified  manner  that  set  forth 
so  well  his  slender  hut  manly  form.  Meeting 
lirst  the  eye  of  Contariiii,  seated  in  the  chair  of 
state  at  the  head  of  the  table,  he  bowed  cour- 
teously, and  then  to  the  nobles  round  the  board. 
There  he  saw  Morosini ;  and  among  others 
whom  he  knew  less  well,  he  was  glad  also  to 
notice  Vendramini  and  Alberti.  The  presence 
of  Lionardo  Morosini  was  less  welcome;  but  it 
struck  no  fear  into  young  Carrara's  heart;  and 
on  second  thoughts  almost  seemed  to  favor  the 
progress  of  his  designs.  All  were  silent,  as  if 
awaiting  his  admission  ;  and  the  first  words  that 
greeted  him  were  from  the  doge,  who  said,  with 
his  pleasant  manner, — "  Welcome  to  Venice, 
Messer  Francesco  ;  I  hope  your  noble  father  is 
in  health  !" 

"  I  am  glad  to  see,  noble  prince,  that  your 
own  health  is  the  same  that  has  ever  attended 
you  through  life,  and  so  will  my  father  be  pleas- 
ed to  hear.  He  is  well,  and  none  the  worse  in 
the  hope  that  now  these  luckless  wars  are  over, 
he  will  live  in  the  friendship  and  favor  of  the 
republic." 

"You  have  your  father's  looks  so  stronglj% 
Messer  Francesco,  thiU  when  you  entered  here 
I  could  think  the  year^'had  rolled  hack  again  ; 
and  now  I  see  that  you  do  not  lack  his  cunning 
speech,  for  all  you  look  so  free  and  gay.  We 
await  to  hear  your  bidding;  for  we  have  been 
told  that  you  have  a  message  for  us  from  the 
Lord  of  Padua." 

"  I  have,  my  lord  ;  and  would  it  were  all  as 
pleasant  as  I  could  wish  ;  but  be  it  what  it  may, 
it  will  stand  as  a  gage  of  my  father's  desire  to 
serve  your  city,  and  to  wipe  away  for  ever  that 
enmity  which  has  come  between  you.  Before 
I  hegm.  let  me  crave  that  protection  which,  ere 
I  have  done,  I  may  well  need  ;  since  angry  and 
fierce  will  be  the  rage  of  s^)me." 

"  Follow  on,  sir,  with  your  message  ;  you  shall 
be  protected." 

"  There  is  among  your  prisoners  one  Messei 
Jacopcj  Arduino  V 


124 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


"  There  is."' 

"  He  was  imprisoned  on  a  charge  cf  treason, 
for  that  he  had  been  practising  with  the  Lord  of 
Padua  !" 

"  He  was  " 

"  My  lord,  I  will  declare  all  which  that  unfor- 
tunate gentlennan  has  done  for  the  Lord  of  Pa- 
dua. My  father  had  need  to  send  to  Messer 
Carlo  Zeno  a  certain  sum  of  gold — why  aiid  to 
what  end  I  will  explain  hereafter,  since  for  that 
among  other  thmgs  am  I  come — but  needing  to 
send  this  gold,  and  privately,  he  lacked  a  mes- 
senger who  would  do  that  service,  and  yet 
whom  he  could  trust  to  do  it  faithfully  even 
tiiough  he  should  hear  of  it  no  more.  Now  you 
should  know  that  Messer  Jacopo  Arduino,  being 
in  trouble  for  want  of  means,  was  in  Padua 
striving  to  borrow  money  of  a  lender  who  had 
often  given  it  him  before,  on  the  security  of  the 
house  which  he  still  possessed  in  Venice.  But 
the  man,  fearing  wars,  would  not  lend  him  the 
money,  nor  even  buy  the  house  ;  as  Arduino 
wished  him  to  do.  My  father  hearing  of  this, 
sent  for  Messer  Jacopo,  whom  he  had  known  in 
better  time,  and  asking  him  what  money  he 
needed,  partly  to  advantage  that  unhappy  gen- 
tleman, and  partly  in  payment  for  his  own  ser- 
vice did  give  him  what  he  needed,  upon  condi- 
tion that  he  should  with  all  speed  convey  the 
gold  I  spake  of  to  Messer  Zeno.  So  faithfully 
did  Messer  Arduino  do  that  service,  that,  as  I 
liave  learned,  he  spent  all  his  own  money  in 
voyaging  to  lind  Messer  Zeno,  which  he  did  at 
Tencdos,  on  his  return  from  Constantinople. 
And  for  that  good  faith,  and  nothing  more,  hath 
Messer  Jacopo  been  imprisoned  •  and,  as  I  hear, 
he  was  given  up  by  his  own  son  ;  so  great  wick- 
edness is  there  in  this  world  !  My  lord,  that 
wretched  gentleman's  imprisonment  disgraces 
justice  :  let  him  be  released  ;  and  I  myself  will 
he  hostage  that  I  will  make  good  what  I  have 
said  of  him.  But,  if  it  so  please  you,  when  he 
is  released,  let  him  be  desired  to  attend  here  at 
such  time  as  you  shall  appoint,  as  a  witness  to 
what  I  have  farther  to  disclose." 

"You  ask  boldly,  Messer  Francesco,"  said 
llie  doge  ;  "  but  we  are  in  great  part  aware  of 
what  you  have  now  disclosed  touching  Messer 
Jacopo  Arduino;  and  on  your  assurance,  I  see 
no  difficulty  here.  That  is  not  all  you  have  for 
us  to  hearl" 

"My  lord,  Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara,  as 
you  well  know,  has  waged  war  with  Venice  on 
certain  quarrels  that  he  had,  and  as  he  thought 
justly.  Others  too  that  had  quarrelled  with  the 
republic  made  common  cause  with  him,  and  as 
they  th(iu;,'ht  jusily  ;  and,  being  thus  opposed  to 
your  high  city,  they,  as  I  need  not  tell  you,  join- 
ed together  for  the  furtherance  of  their  separate 
quarrels,  though  each  might  enter  little  into  the 
several  purposes  of  the  other;  therefore,  my  lord, 
though  Francesco  da  Carrara  fought  by  the  siJe 
of  Genoa,  and  Genoa  by  his,  yet  had  he  little 
concern  in  what  Genoa  had  claimed  of  you  ; 
but  rather  used  the  republic  as  an  engine  in  the 
ipiarrel  which  you  .had  forced  upon  him  ;  for  as 
is  his  wont,  he  sought  to  use  against  your  most 
strong  power  every  engine  that  he  could  find 
ready  lo  his  hand.  And  yet,  as  we  know,  alas  ! 
full  well,  so  strong  has  your  power  been,  that, 
with  al*!  his  art,  and  all  his  resources  he  was 
vanquished.     Still,  I  say,  he  used  all  the  engines 


that  he  could  handle  ;  and  I  do  beliere  ttiat 
none  among  you  who  is  skilled  in  the  arts  of 
war  will  think  that  in  doing  so  he  abanduned 
either  his  honor  or  his  duty  to  the  most  holy 
God.  My  lord,  in  your  own  city  he  found  other 
engines  which  also  he  thought  it  no  wrong  to 
use — many  of  your  nobles,  powerful  and  right 
willing  to  his  service.  And  yet  among  them, 
my  lord,  he  found  men  of  so  little  faith,  that  even 
in  that  treachery,  as  you  would  hold  it,  they  kept 
not  to  their  bond,  but  rather  strove  to  use  him 
for  their  own  ends  ;  and  in  doing  so,  lacking  his 
more  noble  heart,  they  did  not  fail  to  bring 
his  name  into  most  hateful  report;  so  that 
whereas  he  wished  Venice  to  fear  hiin  as  a  foe 
skilled  in  force  and  in  cunning  of  state,  these 
base  men  had  made  him  seem  as  had  as  one  of 
their  own  crow,  and  ready  for  the  vilest  means. 
I  know  full  well,  my  lord,  that  Francesco  da 
Carrara  has  been  suspected  in  this  your  city  of 
crimes,  that  would  drive  him  from  the  earth  and 
bring  upon  him  that  perdition  in  the  life  to  come 
which  not  even  the  iniercession  that  all  require 
could  wipe  away.  Therefore,  my  lord,  and  also 
wishing  to  show  to  you,  now  that  these  wars 
have  gone,  how  thoroughly  he  desires  your 
friendship,  he  has  sent  me  to  make  plain  those 
his  secret  stratagems,  which  have  been  thus  per- 
verted. And  now,  my  lord,  I  shall  need  that 
protection  which  I  have  claimed,  and  some  trust 
from  you  before  I  go  farther.  Before  I  say  more,  I 
must  crave  that  you  cause  to  be  seized  and  kept 
safe,  one  Alessandro  da  Padova,  who  has  long 
been  the  servant  of  my  father,  Messer  Francesco 
da  Carrara — but  a  most  treacherous  servant." 

At  the  sound  of  that  name  one  seated  at  the 
table  started  so  violently  that  every  eye  was 
turned  upon  him.  It  was  Marco  Morosini,  who 
jumped  back  in  his  chair,  but  then  mastering 
himself,  struck  his  fist  hard  upon  the  table,  and 
there  kept  it,  as  though  he  was  prepared  to  hear 
and  witness  all  without  betraying  fear  or  farther 
surprise.  The  others  too  started,  and  looked 
f>-om  Morosini  to  young  Carrara  in  amazement ; 
save  Contarini,  in-  whose  face  there  was  no 
change.  He  looked  round  the  table,  and  then 
at  the  young  Paduan,  saying,  "  These  are  dan- 
gerous words,  Messer  Francesco,  and  rather 
fitted  to  be  heard  by  the  Ten  than  by  us — these 
are  matters  that  we  carry  before  our  council  of 
the  Ten  ;  bin  since  your  father  is  a  foreign 
prince,  and  we  have  admitted  you  here,  we  will 
listen  to  the  rest  of  your  message  :  speak  on." 

"Most  noble  prince,  I  may  not  say  more  un- 
til that  man  be  arrested."  He  drew  a  paper 
from  his  breast.  "  I  have  here  a  list  of  names 
which  it  may  be  I  must  farther  touch  upon.  It 
may  he  so ;  but  were  I  to  say  more  before  that 
one  bad  man  is  arrested,  all  that  I  might  have  to 
advise  the  government  of  this  republic  might  be 
rendered  in  vain.  I  will,  if  you  bid  me,  say  on  ; 
but  better  would  it  be  that  we  had  that  man 
safely  here,  that  you  might  learn  from  his  own 
lips  great  part  of  what  I  would  say  to  you,  and 
that  he  might  not  spread  abroad  untim-ely  what 
must  follow." 

There  was  a  pause  ;  and  Contarini  spoke  in  a 
low  tone  to  Vendramini,  who  sat  next  him. 
The  converse  extended  from  those  to  others, 
Marco  Morosini  alone  remaining  silent,  and  un- 
moved in  the  fixed  posture  that  he  had  taken. 

"  I  will  retire  if  it  so  please  you,"  said  Fran- 


THE  FOSTEti  BROTHER. 


125 


cesco  ;  "  that  you  may  consult  in  freedom  ;  but 
that  I  do  not  speak  vainly  I  vvili  call  a  witness  if 
you  doubt — and  I  do  think  that  the  doge  dues  not 
doubt — but  I  say  if  you  doubt  whether  this  man 
ought  to  be  here  in  safety  before  I  open  farther 
what  I  have  to  say,  ask  Messer  Marco  Morosini." 

Morosini  sprang  from  his  chair,  his  face  deadly 
pale,  then  red  ;  while  his  flashing  eyes  filled  with 
tears  of  passion,  and  the  hand  he  rested  upon 
the  table  trembled  with  an  unknown  dread  and 
rage.  "  It  well  suits,"  he  cried,  "  the  great  but 
base  enemy  of  Venice  to  scatter  these  charges 
among  her  faithful  nobles.  Like  all  true  men, 
ever  have  I  hated  Francesco  da  Carrara  ;  and 
for  that  hate — for  that  contempt  and   scorn — 

which  now  before  my  very  eyes "   He  sunk 

down  on  his  chair,  suffocated  by  the  passion 
that  could  not  find  its  way,  while  the  rest  of  the 
signory  regarded  him  with  astonishment. 

Lionardo,  who  had  begun  to  glance  uneasily 
at  each  face — at  the  bold  messenger  from  his 
doubtful  ally — at  the  dangerous  paper  which  the 
young  man  held  carelessly  in  his  hand,  now  be- 
gan— "Messer  la  Doge," — but  then  repenting 
as  soon  as  Contarini  turned  to  him,  he  said  that 
he  would  not  interrupt  the  council.  The  doge 
continued  his  converse  with  Vendramini ;  who 
closed  it  in  a  somewhat  louder  tone  of  voice,  de- 
noting his  belief  that  he  had  said  enough.  Con- 
tarini rose  from  his  seat,  and  said — "Messer 
Francesco,  it  seems  to  us  that  this  gentleman 
of  whom  you  speak  should  be  seized;  and  at 
your  peril  be  it  to  make  good  the  reasons  for  his 
seizure.     He  shall  be  seized  ;  and  now  say  on. '^ 

"  Not  so,  my  lord  ;  I  may  say  little  more  un- 
til I  know  that  this  man  is  not  running  loose  to 
warn  his  brother  traitors  of  what  they  have  to 
fear,  before  you  yourself  knov/  it.  Nor  am  I 
3ure  but  what,  even  now,  ears  listen  to  us  that 
might  do  the  same." 

Again  Morosini  started  from  his  seat,  but 
Alberti  dragged  him  down,  and  in  a  quick  and 
angry  manner  Contarini  asked — "What  mean 
you,  sir  1  speak  out,  or  leave  your  words  un- 
said." 

"  My  lord,  I  shall  speak  out ;  and  I  have  to 
crave  that  what  else  I  say  may  be  said  before 
the  senate  ;  for  to  you,  and  to  the  senate,  and 
to  all  Venice  my  message  is  directed.  But  this 
I  will  tell  you  now  in  answer  to  those  fierce 
glances  the  which  Messer  Marco  Morosini  gives 
me,  that  his  were  not  the  ears  I  spoke  of 
Messer  Marco  Morosini,  noble  prince,  is  an  hon- 
orable man  ;  still  I  will  say  that  it  behoves  him, 
in  virtue  of  his  honor  and  of  his  faith  to  Venice, 
to  let  no  word  that  I  have  spoken  go  forth  frotn 
this  hall  until  I  have  spoken  before  the  senate; 
and  now,  my  lord,  I  await  to  know  that  Ales- 
sandro  da  Padova  is  m  custody,  and  that  the 
senate  is  willing  to  hear  me  farther." 

Again  Contarini  spoke  with  those  nearest  to 
him ;  and  then,  raising  his  voice  somewhat 
loudly,  he  said — "This  young  man  has  brought 
among  us  more  trouble  than  I  foresaw.  Wheth- 
er he  will  be  able  to  make  good  the  words  he  has 
spoken  so  boldly,  it  is  for  time  to  show.  With 
all  that  audacity  which  has  made  Venice  suffer 
so  much  in  his  fattier,  we  know  not  whether  he 
has  that  father's  wisdom  and  discretion.  It 
looks  little  like  it,  and  truly  it  seems  to  me  that 
he  lias  v(.'ntured  into  this  hall,  sacred  to  your 
councils,  to  make  sport  of  Venice  and. its  highest 


names.  Still  we  iiave  him  here  to  answer  for 
his  words;  and  being  challenged  thus  b(.>ldly,  it 
behoves  us  also  to  answer  for  ourselves  ;  and  I 
trust,  noble  sirs,  that  you  will  think  it  good  that 
this  Alessandro  da  Padova  shall  be  seized  forth- 
with, and  brought  with  this  young  Francesco  da 
Carrara  before  our  senate  ;  and  also  that  none 
of  us  who  are  here,  and  who  are  it  seems  in  par: 
accused,  shall  leave  this  palace  or  stray  away 
from  this  council,  until  we  have  heard  the  res* 
of  Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara's  speech.  My 
lords,  it  touches  us  nearly  ;  it  must  not  be 
otherwise.  Never  did  I  feel,  since  this  bonnet 
was  forced  upon  my  head  by  the  will  of  Venice, 
that  I  stood  in  a  post  of  so  much  danger  as 
now  I  do.  But  truly  he  little  merits  to  have 
so  honorable  a  force  put  upon  him  who  would 
scruple  to  meet  any  danger,  having  at  stake  the 
welfare  of  the  republic;  and  I  say  to  you,  that 
if  any  man  of  you,  and  even  myself  should  leave 
this  building  between  what  this  youth  has  said, 
and  what  he  shall  say,  he  may  be  accused  of 
treachery,  at  least  to  the  high  fame  of  his  race. 
I  do  believe  that  Messer  Marco  Morosini  will 
repulse  all  accusal." 

"  Messer  Marco  Morosini,"  interrupted  Fran- 
cesco, "is  not  accused.  He  knows,  but  he  is 
not  accused." 

"Be  it  so,"  continued  the  doge;  "I  hope 
young  iman,  that  your  audacious  accusations 
will  be  disproved  ;  but  having  gone  so  far,  they 
must  be  disproved.  Meantime  e.xcuse  the  free- 
dom of  my  speech  ;  and  if  it  please  you,  you 
shall  be  made  a  prisoner  too,  if  you  will  vouch- 
safe the  hospitality  with  which  I  would  detain 
you." 

"My  lord,  it  was  my  intent  to  crave  your 
bounty,  both  that  I  might  still  be  protected  un- 
til my  task  is  finished,  and  also  tliat  you  mi^hl 
not  doubt  my  honest  purpose.  \\n  when  my 
task  is  done,"  he  added  gayjy,  with  a  fierce  little 
smile  that  became  him  well,  "  if  any  noble  would 
desire  to  make  mo  answer  for  my  words,  it  will 
not  be  difficult  for  him  to  find  me," 

"Messer  Francesco,  I  will  lead  you  to  my 
apartment ;  but  you  shall  excuse  me  if  for  a 
time  I  return  to  this  council,  to  give  order  for 
what  you  have  desired.  Let  me  attend  you." 
So  saying,  he  led  his  visiter  from  the  hall. 

In  a  few  minutes  Contarini  returned,  and 
again  took  his  seat  and  began  to  advise  with 
the  others  about  the  arrest  of  Alessandro 
Marco  Morosini  sat  like  one  listening  not,  but 
half  dreaming,  until  suddenly  starting,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  It  must  rest  upon  this  ;  let  Alessan- 
dro be  seized,  Andrea  Contarini,  and  let  the 
senate  decide.  I  say  no  more,  except  before 
the  senate  ;  let  Alessandro  be  seized,"  he  added 
fiercely. 

"We  are  agreed,  then,"  said  Contarini,  look 

!  in  around  him.     He  started.     "  But  we  are  not 

all  here — one    is    gone."     Every    eye    hastily 

ran  round  the  circle.     Lionardo  Morosini  had 

left  it. 


CH.'VPTER  LX. 

Not  long  after  Contarini  had  given  the  order 
for  Jacopo's  release,  the  prisoner  issued  from 
the  gates  of  the  palace,  a  free  man-     His  hair 


120 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


was  whiter,  anil  straggled  down  his  shoulders 
in  scantier  locks ;  his  face  was  more  haggard 
and  anxious ;  his  limbs  covered  with  those 
same  decayed  clothes  that  he  had  worn  for 
years,  were  shrunken  ;  and  he  tottered  like  a 
very  aged  man.  Yet  his  countenance  was 
cheerful  and  almost  gay  as  he  looked  around 
him — but  then  starting  he  covered  his  eyes  with 
'lis  hands,  for  they  could  not  endure  the  unac- 
■•ustomed  glare  of  the  sun,  nor  even  the  light 
from  the  tiles  under  his  feet.  "With  impatient 
but  faltering  steps,  he  turned  into  the  piazza ; 
hastening  with  what  speed  he  might  to  the  stone 
l>8nch  that  ran  along  the  front  of  Saint  Mark's 
catliedral ;  and  there  he  sat  down  to  rest,  wea- 
ried with  tlie  stone-throw's  journey  that  he  had 
come.  For  though  liice  a  caged  animal,  he  had 
daily  paced  his  cell,  the  short  space  gave  little 
exercise  to  his  limbs  ;  and  he  who  had  travel- 
led Italy  and  the  east  with  firm  and  elastic  steps, 
could  now  scarcely  totter  across  the  square  of 
St.  Mark.  He  sat  not  long  ;  for  he  was  impa- 
tient to  reach  his  home  ;  and  presently  rising, 
lie  went  forward  with  better  strength.  He  came 
to  the  door  of  his  house.  It  looked  not  different 
from  what  it  had ;  not  more — not  so  dreary  as 
when  he  left  it ;  for  now  the  sun  was  renewing 
his  strength,  and  cast  some  glow  upon  the 
dingy  walls.  The  door  was  shut ;  but  on  push- 
ing it  he  found  it  was  unfastened.  He  entered 
and  heard  the  sound  of  voices.  Crossing  the 
hall,  he  went  up  stairs,  and  turned  into  the 
rooms  where  he  had  last  left  the  beloved  in- 
mates. No  one  was  there.  He  went  on  into 
Bianca's  bed-chamber  :  the  bed  was  there,  and 
the  bed-clothes ;  but  all  was  in  disorder,  and  dust 
lay  upon  the  very  sheets — the  dust  of  months. 
His  brain,  dizzy  with  long  confinement,  became 
more  bewildered  at  this  strange  desertion.  He 
scarcely  comprehended  what  to  fear,  or  what 
to  hope  ;  for  vague  surmises  chased  each  other 
away  without  staying  long  enough  to  be  under- 
stood. He  went  back  into  the  sitting  room : 
and  there  he  limnd'  the  same  scanty  furniture 
that  had  served  his  daughter,  all  as  dirty  as  the 
bed.  He  felt  that  they  had  gone  long  ago  ; — 
whither  1  The  sound  of  distant  voices  again 
struck  upon  his  ear.  With  feebler  steps,  for 
he  had  not  found  what  he  sought  to  cheer  him, 
he  again  went  down  the  stairs;  and  standing 
in  the  hall,  he  listened  to  hear  whence  the  voices 
might  come.  They  seemed  to  be  those  of  wo- 
men in  brisk  and  careless  conversation.  He 
followed  the  sound,  which  led  him  into  what 
was  once  the  busy  kitchen  of  his  mansion  ;  and 
there  were  three  or  four  strange  women,  who 
started  and  looked  afraid,  as  he  entered.  One 
was  washing  some  clothes  at  a  sort  of  sink, 
while  the  others  stood  leaning  against  the  wall 
or  sitting  on  tubs  and  such  things  as  they  might, 
chattering  with  the  woman  at  work.  When 
they  saw  that  sudden  and  strange  appearance  of 
Jacopo  Arduino,  the  master  of  the  house,  their 
faces  reflected  the  whitenessof  his  own  ;  some 
taking  it  for  a  ghost ;  others  fearing  rebuke  for 
being  detected  in  their  intrusion.  Though  they 
knew  hirn,  to  him  they  were  unknown  ;  for  he 
was  not  used  much  to  mark  the  faces  of  stran- 
gers. For  a  while  he  stared  at  them  in  amaze  ; 
then  seeing  that  they  were'afraid,  he  said, 
"Fear  nothing,  my  good  women,  for  f  could  do 
you  no  ill  if  I  would.     I  am  Jacopo  Arduino,  to 


whom  this  house  once  belonged,  and  does  now  ; 
but  it  seems  no  longer  to  be  mine,  since  I  find 
it  deserted  by  all  that  marked  it  for  my  own. 
Tell  me,  where  are  they  all  gonel  where  is  my 
wife.  Madonna  Bianca  Arduino  1" 

"  It  is  Messer  Jacopo,"  cried  one  of  the  rest, 
"  the  Signora  Bianca's  husband  ;"  and  again  the 
women  stared  at  each  other  and  at  him. 

After  waiting  awhile,  expecting  their  answer, 
he  asked  once  more,  "  Where  is  she  now — Ma- 
donna Bianca?" 

At  that  question,  the  w-omen  put  on  a  very 
doleful  look  ;  and  several  speaking  at  once,  they 
cried, — "  Ah,  Messer  Jacopo,  do  you  not  know 
what  has  happened?  Do  you  not  know  where 
your  wife  is  V 

"  Why,  that  is  the  very  thing  I  ask  you.  Tell 
me  you,"  he  said,  speaking  to  the  woman  who 
was  washing;  and  from  her  he  learnt,  in  a  bro- 
ken and  unconnected  way,  how  his  wife  had 
died  ;  how  his  daughter  had  gone  no  one  knew 
whither  ;  and  how  his  house  so  long  remained 
deserted,  until  these  poor  women  had  ventured 
within,  that  it  might,  they  said,  sometimes  be 
cheered  by  the  sound  of  Christian  voices. 

Jacopo  turned  away,  and  went  out  of  the 
house.  His  poor  wife,  Bianca,  was  at  rest,  he 
thought,  and  he  should  never  see  her  again  ;  and 
the  thought  made  him  sad  ;  but  still  with  his 
restless  mind  he  less  dwelt  upon  the  past  than 
now  most  eagerly  desired  to  find  his  daughter. 
He  issued  from  the  door,  and  stood  a  little, 
questioning  which  way  he  should  go  ;  and  then, 
without  having  determined,  he  walked  the  way 
his  feet  happened  to  lead,  and  wandered  on, 
through  the  lanes  and  by  the  canal  sides,  and 
over  the  bridges,  to  San  Fantino,  to  San  Slefa- 
no,  to  Canaraggio  ;  scarcely  knowing  svhy  he 
went,  but  fancying  he  was  doing  what  he  could 
to  find  his  child.  So  he  would  have  wandered 
on  till  night,  but  that  he  chanced  to  see  his  own 
lengthening  shadow  ;  which  reminded  him  of 
the  order  that  he  should  return  to  the  palace  ; 
and  to  that  he  now  bent  his  way  ;  still  he  stray- 
ed a  little  here  and  there  from  his  path,  and 
thus  it  happpned  that  he  came  down  to  the 
water-side  near  San  Giovanni  Bragora. 

Ill  fortune  was  it  that  led  Alessandro  da  Pa> 
dova  to  that  same  spot  that  day  I  He  came  on 
with  his  strong  and  proud  strides,  but  his  face 
was  darker  than  ever  ;  for  he  had  found  from 
Lionardo  Morosini,  who  had  sought  him  out, 
enough  to  show  that  he  had  been  betrayed,  not 
only  by  name,  but  in  all  his  plans.  He  had 
been  to  Barbarigo  to  warn  him  of  their  danger, 
though  still  keeping  back  a  part.  To  see  if  he 
had  learnt  more,  he  had  been  back  to  the  way- 
ward Lionrt.uo  Morosini,  who  laughed  and  told 
him  not  to  fear,  and  so  angered  him  that  he 
would  have  struck  the  scoffer  dead,  but  for  the 
trouble  it  would  have  brought.  Already  in  his 
heart  he  had  devoted  two  ducats  to  Nadale  for 
Lionardo's  service.  He  had  been  to  Nicolo  di 
Bernardo,  to  Luigi  da  Molino,  and  to  others  of 
the  conspirators,  telling  them  to  watch  and  be 
together ;  and  now  he  was  on  his  way  to  the 
palace,  that  he  might  be  near  and  ready  to  direct 
any  resistance  to  the  fate  that  threatened  him. 
Yesterday  —  that  very  morning  —  the  fate  of 
Venice,  and  his  own  triumph,  seemed  within 
his  grasp  ;  now  all  was  gone  ;  destruction  hung 
over  hirn    and  he  only  debated  within  himseU 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


127 


whether  he  should  fly,  or  whether  he  should  | 
stay  to  turn  to  his  purpose  the  little  chance  that 
remained.  With  angry  defiance  he  determined 
that  he  would  brave  it  out ;  and  if  he  fell,  at 
least  that  numbers  should  be  destroyed  with 
him.  And  now  he  revolved  in  his  mind  how 
many  he  could  drag  down  in  his  own  ruin  ; 
counting  up  as  he  walked,  and  lashing  his  anger 
in  the  thought  of  the  names  of  all  whom  he  had 
summoned  to  aid  him,  as  victims  to  celebrate 
his  fall.  He  walked  on  with  his  face  held  up, 
but  his  eyes  upon  the  gronnd,  reckoning  these 
fierce  and  deadly  purposes,  when  Jacopo  Ardui- 
no,  who  knew  him  well,  laid  his  hand  gently 
upon  his  breast,  to  stop  him,  and  said  in  a  kindly 
voice, — "  Tell  me,  Messer  Alessandro,  if  you 
know  where  I  may  find  my  daughter  Teresa  1" 

The  sudden  hand  laid  upon  his  breast,  the 
pleasant  voice,  and  the  simple  question  startled 
him  more  than  the  swords  and  voices  of  a  legion 
could  have  done.  He  drew  back.  He  saw  be- 
fore him,  released  from  prison,  one  of  the  men 
whom  he  hated  merely  because  their  purposes 
were  opposite.  The  weak  and  despised  Jacopo 
Arduino,  too  foolish  even  to  hate  well,  stood  re- 
leased from  his  troubles.  In  his  weakness  he 
had  controlled  them ;  and  the  fetters  fell  from 
his  limbs  as  if  of  their  own  accord,  for  he  had 
not  vigor  to  have  snapped  a  silken  thread  ;  while 
Alessandro  himself,  who  could  have  taken  the 
strongest  man  of  Venice  in  his  grasp  and 
wrenched  him  to  his  will,  whose  massive  head 
had  planned  such  schemes  that  the  policy  of 
kingdoms  was  turned  to  his  purpose,  and  who 
had  helped  to  draw  upon  Venice  foes  from  the 
farthest  Mediterranean,  from  Hungary,  from 
France, — whose  power  but  now  seemed  the 
strongest  in  the  senate,  and  the  stronger  for 
being  secret, — this  powerful  man  now  trembled 
at  the  destruction  which  threatened  him  in  the 
very  vastness  of  his  own  projects.  In  the 
midst  of  his  malignant  tribulation  came  this 
voice,  this  question  searching  into  his  unknown 
crimes,  as  though  simplicity  itself  could  reach 
farther  and  know  more  than  guile.  A  passion 
of  envy  raised  a  tumult  in  his  soul,  and  fiercely 
pushing  Jacopo  aside,  he  cried,  "  Stand  aside, 
fool !  what  care  I  for  your  daughter  that  I  should 
know,  or  answer  you  if  I  did  1" 

Jacopo  staggered  back,  and  nearly  fell ;  but 
the  spirit  that  was  in  him  was  roused  by  Ales- 
sandro's  unmatmerly  attack,  and,  hastily  stretch- 
ing forth  his  arm,  he  seized  the  Paduan's  cloak 
as  he  passed  by,  and  said, — "  These  angry  pas- 
sions, Messer  Alessandro,  belong  to  guilty 
minds  ;  and  for  your  rude  denial  of  my  daughter, 
I  think  you  know  more  than  you  will  say." 

"  Let  me  go,  ribald  !"  cried  Alessandro, 
growing  more  angry;  "or  I  will  throw  your 
worthless  body  into  the  water." 

But  Jacopo  still  held  his  cloak. 

Alessandro  grew  more  angry.  He  seized  the 
other's  wrist,  and  tore  his  hand  away.  But 
now  the  light  and  fragile  man  felt  the  use  of  the 
good  food  which  it  had  been  Contarini's  care  to 
let  him  have,  and  his  pale  face  blushed  with 
anger  and  exertion  the  rosy  red  of  a  young  girl. 
As  Alessandro  tore  his  hand  away,  the  other 
seized  the  strong  man's  cloak,  and  hindered  his 
progress.  The  Pad  nan  spoke  no  more.  He 
(lid  not  try  to  snatch  away  the  grasp  of  that 
other  hand  ;  but  with  teeth  clenched,  brealhing 


short  and  quick,  he  placed  both  his  hands  under 
his  antagonist's  arms,  and,  half  lifting  him  from 
the  ground,  raised  him  to  the  water's  edge. 
Jacopo  saw  the  fate  that  was  meant  for  him  ; 
and  now  he  struggled  for  life.  He  threw  him- 
self on  the  ground  ;  he  twined  round  Alessan- 
dro's  legs,  and  with  desperate  activity  stove  to 
entangle  himself  in  the  murderer's  limbs,  cry- 
ing out  ever  and  anon  with  sharp  shrieks  lor 
help.  His  cries  were  heard,  and  people  who 
had  seen  the  struggle  came  running  from  a  dis- 
tance. Alessandro  now  strove  to  shake  ofTthc 
living  net  into  which  he  was  entrapped,  anxious 
merely  to  get  away;  but  Jacopo,  who  un- 
derstood him  not,  still  kept  his  hold  ;  despair 
made  Alessandro's  anger  fiercer.  Again  he 
seized  the  fallen  man  ;  and  still  in  their  strug- 
gles, they  drew  nearer  to  the  water.  A  rough 
hand  seized  the  Padunn  from  behind.  He  turn- 
ed his  face  ; — it  was  Turnbull,  who  putting  his 
knee  in  the  tall  man's  back,  drew  him  with 
fi)rce  to  throw  him  down.  Rising  with  a  sud- 
den efTort,  Alessandro  threw  ofTihe  big  soldier  ; 
and  at  the  same  time  Jacopo,  who  saw  relief  at 
hand,  was  less  desperate  in  his  grasp,  and  fell 
back  exhausted.  Alessandro  hastily  stepped 
forward.  The  crowd  around  him  were  now 
eager  to  see  some  disaster,  and  when  he  moved, 
they  too  stepped  forward  to  chase  the  flying 
man.  Turnbull  knew  him  :  lie  was  abashed  at 
the  ease  with  which  his  potent  hold  had  been 
shaken  off;  and,  angry  at  being  baffled,  he  turn- 
ed to  the  eager  crowd,  and  pointing  to  the  Pa- 
duan,  he  said  in  English,  "Aye,  my  masters, 
there  runs  a  spy  of  Messer  Francesco  da  Car- 
rara's." The  people  understood  nothing  but 
that  dreaded  name  :  but  Alessandro  was  not 
unknown  ;  his  proud  and  fierce  manner  to  those 
who  thought  his  station  even  lower  than  their 
own,  while  they  saw  him  using  the  luxury  and 
power  of  a  noble,  made  him  envied  ;  and  now 
that  he  was  pointed  at  in  his  flight,  suddenly 
he  became  a  criminal  in  their  eyes.  They  pm- 
sned  him,  and  seized  him  ;  while  Turnbull,  half 
afraid  to  meddle  with  a  man  so  powerful  in  the 
state,  stood  by  shouting  to  see  the  Venetians 
thus  handle  their  countryman.  For  a  little 
while,  with  blows  and  rapid  strides,  Alessandro 
made  his  way  along  the  bank  of  the  canal :  but 
presently  he  stopped  ;  he  struggled  ;  the  crowd 
swung  backwards  and  forwards  with  his  violent 
exertions ;  he  fell  ;  and,  held  by  a  score  of 
hands,  he  was  lifted  flouncing  and  kicking  to 
the  edge  of  that  water  into  which  he  wouM 
have  thrown  another.  "Throw  him  ir  "  was 
the  cry  ;  but  amidst  the  storm  of  voice6  thost,- 
who  held  him  spoke  and  moved  with  a  purpose 
of  their  own.  They  stopped  ;  and  instead  of 
throwing  him  in,  they  walked  some  few  steps 
farther,  and  carried  him  into  a  many-oared  boat ; 
which  in  a  few  minutes  was  thronged.  It 
moved  ;  the  ropes  were  cast  ofT,  and  then  a 
knot  of  men  who  had  been  busy  towards  the 
stern,  were  seen  to  hold  their  still  struggling 
victim  aloft.  They  threw  him  overboard,  and 
with  a  new  impulse,  a  sheet  of  oars  on  either 
side  dipping  like  wings  into  the  water,  the  boat 
shot  a  head.  As  he  fell  backwards  into  the 
waves,  Alessandro  was  lost  in  the  splash  ;  but 
presently  he  might  be  seen  dashing  his  hands 
about,  and  writhing  hither  and  thither.  They 
had  fastened  a  rope  to  his  feet,  which  dragged 


128 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


liim  along  in  the  water.  An  instant  he  lay  still 
cipon  his  back  in  the  roaring  wake  of  the  boat ; 
then  suddenly  bending  forward,  he  snatcheil 
with  his  right  hand  at  the  rope  which  dragged 
him.  One  moment  he  held  it ;  but  exhausted, 
blinded,  choked  with  water,  fainting  and  weak, 
!iis  fingers  relaxed  ;  his  bent  up  form  once  more 
stretched  out  in  tlie  stream  ;  his  arms  floated 
over  his  head  ;  and,  as  the  boat  went  on,  it 
now  dragged,  wiiii  clenched  hands  and  glaring 
eyes,  a  dead  man. 

Whde  Jacopo  still  sat  upon  the  ground,  a 
little  way  up  the  calle  leading  to  San  Giovanni, 
a  woman  stooped  over  him,  and,  resting  her 
iiand  upon  his  shoulder,  asked  him  if  he  was  ill. 
••Not  so,"  he  answered,  rising  and  looking  at 
her  cheerfully.  She  was  a  tall  and  dignified 
woman,  and  he  could  scarcely  tell  whether  to 
account  her  a  lady  or  one  of  the  common  sort. 
Seeing  her  still  look  inquiring,  he  continued,  "I 
am  not  hurt,  though  I  have  been  roughly  hand- 
led." 

•'What  has  been  amiss  with  youl" 

"  Excellent  lady,  I  scarcely  can  say  what  has 
been  amiss.  I  was  walking  here  but  now,  and 
I  met  a  gentleman — I  do  not  know  him  well, 
yet  he  scarce  could  have  been  offended  by  my 
freedom — I  met  him  here,  close  by,  and  did  but 
ask  if  he  could  tell  me  where  I  should  find  my 
daughter  Teresa  ;  whereupon  he  seized  me,  and 
would  have  thrown  me  into  the  water,  but  that 
[  was  rescued." 

The  woman  looked  at  him  more  closely  ;  then 
she  said,  "You  are  Messer  Jacopo  ArduinoT' 

"  The  same ;  but  since  you  know  me,  per- 
chance you  can  tell  what  I  wish  to  know.  I 
have  not  long  been  free,  and  going  home,  I 
found  my  house  deserted.  Can  you  say  where 
is  my  daughter  Teresa  1" 

"  Would  that  I  could,  for  I  seek  her  too  ;  but 
I  hope  in  a  little  while  that  she  will  be  restored 
to  us." 

"  How,  then  ;  is  she  losf!" 

"Messer  Arduino,  I  can  say  no  more  now; 
but  I  will  lead  you  to  one  who  will  tell  you  bet- 
ier,  Messer  Sebasliano  Morosini."  As  they 
moved  to  go,  Rosa  said,  "  What  has  been  this 
tumult  which  I  see  1" 

"  It  is  the  same  tumult  of  which  my  little 
question  was  the  beginning.  When  that  gentle- 
man I  spoke  of  tried  to  drown  me,  these  com- 
passionate people  prevented  him  ;  and  then  fall- 
ing into  anger  because  of  his  struggles,  they 
iiave  seized  him  and  drowned  him ;  and  I  fear 
some  mischief  will  come,  for  the  Ten  cannot  hut 
hear  of  it ;  so  that  I  am  scarcely  out  of  prison 
before  I  fall  into  new  troubles,  and  I  know  not 
where  to  go  for  peace." 

"And  who  is  :t  then  that  you  asked  this  ques- 
tion of?"  inquired  Rosa,  looking  more  startled 
at  Jacopo's  fatal  news  than  he  himself  seemed 
in  telling  it. 

"  It  is  oiie  Messer  Alessandro  da  Padova." 

AVith  a  sharp  stifled  sound,  like  a  shriek  drawn 
inwards,  llosa  let  fall  Jacopo's  hand  ;  and  dash- 
ing through  the  cnovvd  rushed  to  the  water's 
sdge.  There  in  the  distance  she  saw  the  boat 
Btill  moving  forward  ;  but  now  more  slowly. 
She  looked  around  her.  All  the  faces  were 
strange,  save  one ;  for  as  she  looked,  a  man 
newly  joined  the  crowd  outside,  and  peered  over 
to  see  what  was  the  matter     Sim  did  not  know 


him  by  name,  hut  remembered  somewhere  tft 
have  seen  that  T  fl  and  distorted  face.  It  was 
her  follower  N:-  ale.  Others  had  now  grown 
cooler,  and  were  watching  the  boat ;  at  times 
talking  to  each  o^her,  and  laughing  as  they  re- 
called the  struggles  of  the  drowning  man;  so  that 
a  constant  buzz  was  kept  up.  llosa  stood  quite  si- 
lent. She  made  no  appeal  ibr  help,  for  she  had  no 
hope  eillier  from  their  will  or  from  their  power  of 
rescuing  the  miserable  man ;  but  she  strained  her 
eyes  to  see  whither  the  boat  would  go.  Not 
long  after,  it  turned  round,  and  came  back  again 
towards  the  shore.;  but  more  slowly  than  before, 
for  the  rowers  wfe're  tired.  A  hand  took  hold  of 
her  arm,  and  she  saw  Jacopo,  who  would  have 
led  her  away ;  but  in  a  low  voice  she  desired 
him  to  leave  her.  Puzzled  what  to  do,  for  her 
pa.'ssion  and  peremptory  manner  went  beyond 
his  contrivance  to  overcome,  and  yet  not  wish- 
ing to  leave  her,  he  stood  silent  by  her  side. 

Presently  there  was  a  regular  tramp  of  feet, 
and  a  loud  voice  spoke  some  words,  as  if  by  one 
in  authority,  to  ipakp  way  through  the  crowd. 
Nothing  drew  Rosa's  gaze  from  that  distant  ob- 
ject upon  which  it  was  fixed  ;  but  all  other  eyes 
were  turned  upon  the  spot,  and  there  was  seen 
an  officer  with  some  few  soldiers,  and  by  the 
side  of  the  officer  came  Ranieri  and  William 
Cooke.  Jacopo  stared  upon  them ;  for  even 
since  he  had  been  in  prison  the  youth  had  grown 
so  tall  and  so  broad,  was  so  bronzed  with  brav- 
ing the  weather,  and  had  so  much  fuller  a  fiinge 
upon  his  lip,  that  the  father  scarcely  ventured 
to  claim  his  child  aloud  ;  and  so  he  stood  waiting 
to  see  what  would  happen.  The  officer  spoke 
to  some  of  the  people  nearest  to  him,  and  then 
to  Ranieri ;  who  pointed  to  the  boat,  which  had 
now  come  nearer,  and  spoke  in  his  turn.  They 
waited  until  the  boat  had  drawn  still  closer,  and 
then  four  of  the  soldiers,  getting  into  another 
small  boat,  rowed  towards  it.  The  larger  boat 
stopped,  as  if  those  within  were  in  doubt.  The 
soldiers  held  up  a  flag  to  show  what  they  were, 
and  then  the  others,  not  daring  to  move,  either 
to  come  nearer  or  to  fly,  remained  quite  quiet, 
but  some  unloosed  the  rope  by  which  the  dead 
body  was  towed  at  the  stern,  and  it  sank.  When 
the  small  boat  came  up,  the  soldiers  did  not  go 
or.  board  ;  but,  rowing  past,  they  stopped  near 
to  the  place  where  they  had  last  seen  the  body. 
There  was  scarcely  a  sound  or  a  motion  either 
on  shore  or  on  the  water.  Every  look  was 
turned  upon  the  little  boat,  and  the  soldiers  in  it 
kept  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  water's  face.  So 
they  stood  for  many  minutes;  and  then,  not  far 
ofT,  they  descried  a  little  darkness  on  the  water; 
for  the  body  had  risen  again  to  the  surface. 
They  made  towards  it,  and  seizing  it,  they  took 
the  rope  that  was  still  fastened  to  its  feet,  and 
slowly  dragged  it  to  the  shore.  As  it  was  lifted 
out  on  to  the  land,  the  body,  with  the  eyes  still 
open,  was  so  rigid  with  the  dying  struggles, 
that  the  arms  could  scarce  be  forced  down  to 
its  sides. 

No  sooner  was  it  laid  upon  the  ground,  than 
Rosa,  pushing  her  way  to  it,  knelt  down  beside 
it.  The  soldiers  would  have  moved  her  away, 
but  Ranieri  prevented  them,  and  they  waited  to 
see  what  she  would  do.  She  did  not  kiss  the 
lips,  nor  embrace  it,  nor  weep;  Alessandro's 
cruelly  and  base  intents  had  expunged  her  love, 
and  now  that  end  so  fitting  to  his  crimes  had 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


130 


made  the  hideousness  of  his  (-ature  revolting 
even  to  the  sight ;  but  laying  '.  r  hand  upon  the 
breast,  she  clutched  the  wet  ..othes,  and  turn- 
ing to  the  soldiers,  asked,—  "  Where  do  you 
carry  thisi" 

"  To  the  doge,"  replied  one. 

Ranieri  stooped  over  the  kneeling  vvouian  ana 
putting  his  arm  round  her  waist,  he  said  in  her 
ear, — "  This  is  no  sight  for  you,  Rosa  mia,  nor 
does  any  real  duty  keep  you  here.  Let  me  take 
you  home ;  or  rather,  for  I  may  not  leave  the 
service  I  am  on,  let  me  send  you  home  by  this 
my  friend,  a  most  excellent  English  gentleman." 

Rosa  looked  at  him,  and  following  the  motion 
of  his  hand,  looked  also  at  Cooke,  who  stood 
lost  in  admiration  at  her  strange  bearing  and 
her  majestic  aspect.  "  No,  Ranieri,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  I  will  follow  this, — I  will  follow  this,  for 
none  other  will — until  I  see  where  they, "^ury  it." 

Ranieri  stood  irresolute  for  a  moment,  and 
then  speaking  to  the  officer,  he  said,  "  It  were 
as  well  to  let  her  have  her  will ;  for  perchance 
it  will  not  grieve  her  more.  Those  who  have 
sent  us  may  find  a  use  in  her  presence.  Let  her 
come ;  but  let  us  treat  her  gently  ;  for  well  I 
know  that  this  man's  death,  for  which  none  in 
Venice  should  grieve,  will  be  a  bitter  stroke  to 
her."  They  raised  the  body  from  the  ground, 
and  were  about  to  bear  it  away,  when  their  pas- 
sage was  barred  by  the  people  that  stood  around 
them.  The  officers  of  the  doge  stopped  in  sur- 
prise, and  they  were  now  aware  of  a  different 
manner  in  the  people,  as  though  bent  on  farther 
mischief. 

"What  is  this  •"  cried  the  officer.  "Stand 
out  of  the  way,  men." 

"  There  is  another  spy  with  you,"  cried  a 
man  with  a  hot  and  angry  face.  "  Another  spy 
besides  the  drowned  one,  and  one  more  besides 
that  other!" 

"Which  are  theyT'  said  the  officer;  "we 
know  of  none  but  this  dead  man." 

Nadale,  whose  crooked  face  Rosa  had  seen 
among  the  people,  whispered  to  the  spokesman  ; 
who  said, — "There  he  stands  by  your  side; 
that  tail  lad,  I  do  not  know  his  name."  He 
pointed  to  Ranieri. 

"  Know  you  what  he  means  I"  said  the  officer 
to  the  youth. 

"I  know  nothing,"  answered  Ranieri,  "  save 
that  where  there  are  traitors,  there  are  likely  to 
be  more  such  :,  and  by  his  words  I  should  sus- 
pect that  flustered  fellow  to  be  one." 

The  officer  asked  the  man,  if  he  knew  not 
Ranieri's  name,  how  he  knew  him  to  be  a  trai- 
tor 1 

"Why,  they  say  so,'.'  answered  the  man. 

"  Who  says  so  1  Show  me  who  has  spoken 
to  you  of  him." 

The  man  glanced  around  to  find  his  teacher, 
and  then  he  pointed  to  Nadale,  who  had  moved 
a  little  farther  off;  but  before  he  spoke,  Ranie- 
ri's eye,  too,  had  found  out  the  ruffian's  face, 
easily  known  among  thousands  ;  and  with  im- 
patient tones,  he  cried, — "  Sicze  that  man  ;  we 
may  want  him  more  than  any  in  Venice."  Nadale 
cast  at  him  a  look  of  hate  and  fear  ;  and  then 
twisting  quickly  round,  he  made  a  plunge  to 
force  his  way  through  the  crowd.  It  was 
wedged  too  closely  together,  and  even  the  strug- 
gle to  yield  way  to  him  only  entangled  it  still 
i:iore.  There  was  a  hot  and  tearing  scramble 
R 


— he  was  siezed  by  many  strong  hands,  and  he 
stood  a  sullen  captive  in  the  grasp  of  the  sol- 
diers. "You  need  not  hold  me  so  tight  I"  he 
cried.  They  unloosed  their  hold  as  they  closed 
around  him,  and  brought  him  forward.  He 
drew  nigh,  his  eye  fixed  intently  on  Ranieri ;  to 
whom  he  muttered, — "You  think,  boy,  to  have 
your  revenge  ;  but — "  One  more  desperate 
rush  he  made,  this  time  at  the  youth  ;  and  a 
knife  flashed  in  his  hand  as  he  flung  it  back  for  a 
blow — his  wrist  was  seized — he  turned,  and  met 
his  new  foe  face  to  face  ; — it  was  Jacopo,  who 
had  followed  the  ruffian's  murderous  eye  :  they 
closed — the  weakened  ruffian,  strong  with  the 
madness  of  rage, — the  feeble  prisoner  with  the 
parent  instinct :  now  they  bent  this  way,  now 
that,  too  fast  for  those  who  hovered  round  to 
seize  and  part  them  :  once  Jacopo  wrenched 
his  man  with  elbow  down  nearly  to  the  ground 
— then  the  father's  spine  nearly  broke  as  he 
was  strained  back: — they  hugged — they  parted 
— the  knife  clanked  upon  the  tiles  and  dabbled 
them  with  Jacopo"s  smokmg  blood — he  fell  back, 
wildly  catching  Ranieri  in  his  arms,  to  shield 
with  his  body  him  whom  he  could  not  any  long- 
er defend  ;  his  arms  relaxed — and  the  doubting 
son  knew  his  father  as  he  slid  senseless  to  the 
ground.  Nadale  stood  still,  watching  the  ruin 
he  had  made — he  stared — he  staggered  dizzily 
— his  eyes  closed,  and  a  choking  sound  rose  in 
his  throat ; — bending  forward,  bespat  upon  the 
ground:  it  was  blood  1  Of  old,  Sebastian's  arm 
had  smitten  him  with  a  mortal  sickness.  He 
sat  down  upon  the  ground  beside  the  wounded 
father,  and  sought  no  farther  escape.  His  cap- 
tors stood  by  without  word  or  motion,  stricken 
with  awe  at  the  sight  of  the  death  written  in 
his  face  ;  awaiting  to  see  whether  he  would 
live  or  die  before  them.  Stricken  were  they 
with  awe,  but  scarce  with  pity,  save  to  think 
how  unpitied  was  the  wretch  in  his  agony. 
The  struggle  passed ;  he  laughed,  a  sneering 
chuckle,  and  cried  sharply, — "  Aye,  take  me 
where  you  will ;  and  if  you  take  me  to  Monsig- 
nor  lo  Doge,  I  will  tell  him  such  fine  things  as 
will  make  your  hair  stand  on  end,  and  flutter 
stout  hearts  in  many  a  palace.  Many  a  good 
story  has  passed  between  me  and  this  drowned 
gentleman  here." 

"  How  is  it  with  this  wounded  man  !"  asked 
Cooke. 

"  He  lives,"  said  Ranieri.  "  It  is  my  father, 
Guglielmo  ;  how  strangely  met !  You  shall 
bear  him  to  the  palace  of  good  Messer  Zeno, 
and  I  will  make  account  of  him  where  he  should 
have  been  anon,  with  Messer  Francesco  before 
the  senate.  Raise  up  that  dying  caitifT;  for  he 
must  go  where  he  cannot  walk." 

And  the  strange  party  moved  away,  the 
crowd  in  bewildered  amaze,  ofTering  no  farther 
hindrance. 


CHAPTER  LXL 

Is  the  ante-room  to  the  senate  hall  the 
party  to  whom  Ranieri  had  served  as  guide, 
and  almost  as  leader,  were  stopped  by  the  at- 
tendants ;  and  while  the  rest  were  detained 
until  orders  should  be  received  for  their  admit- 
tance, he  was  allowed  to  pass  at  once.  A  single 


130 


THE   FOSTER  BROTHER. 


Toice  ''  ek  on  the  youth's  ear  as  he  entered 
and  drew  his  eyes  to  the  erect  and  comely  figure 
of  young  Francesco  da  Carrara,  who  addressed 
the  assembled  senate  with  the  easy  rapidity  of 
one  far  on  in  his  speech.  His  voice  it  was 
alone  that  rang  in  the  vaulted  hall,  although 
there  was  that  indescribable  wiiispered  sound 
which  is  felt  rather  than  heard  where  great 
numbers  are  collected  in  silence ;  so  that  lla- 
nieri  knew  before  he  turned  his  eyes  around, 
that  the  place  was  crowded.  The  whole  senate 
of  Venice  seemed  to  be  there  ;  for  not  a  seat 
was  empty  ;  and  rapidly  glancing  at  the  amphi- 
theatre of  faces,  in  the  midst  of  which  sat  the 
venerable  Contarini,  he  saw  the  endless  variety 
of  passions  depicted  in  each  countenance.  Near 
to  Contarini  sat  Rafaino  de'  Caresini,  the  grand 
chancellor  ;  as  composed  but  as  intent  as  the 
prince  himself.  Not  far  off,  among  the  mem- 
bers cf  the  signory,  was  Marco  Morosini,  erect 
and  pale,  his  red  eyes  winking  rapidly,  as 
though  they  smarted  under  the  light  ;  but  his 
limbs  firmly  fixed,  prepared  to  brave  whatever 
might  ensue.  Beyond  him  was  Barbarigo,  pale 
and  anxious,  and  many  a  year  older  in  his  as- 
pect. On  the  other  side  of  Contarini  was  Lio- 
nardo,  contented,  almost  gay.  Among  the 
senators  was  Malipicro,  who  watched  the  orator 
like  a  wolf  with  a  growing  fire  in  his  eye.  At 
the  farthest  end  of  the  benches  vvliich  extend- 
ed to  the  left  of  the  door  round  the  three  sides  of 
the  eastern  end  of  the  chamber,  sat  Carlo  Zeno 
in  his  place,  but  not  in  the  midst  of  his  fellov/ 
senators  ;  and  nigh  to  him  stood  Sebastian,  Ed- 
ward the  Englishman,  and  Luigi.  As  noise- 
lessly as  he  could,  llanieri  moved  slowly  round 
by  the  western  side  of  the  chamber,  passing 
from  group  to  group  of  the  attendants,  to  avoid 
any  interruption  of  what  was  going  forward  ; 
and  he  learnt  from  the  first  words  that  struck 
his  ear,  that  Francesco  da  Carrara  had  already 
delivered  good  pirt  of  his  message. 

"  That,"  said  the  speaker,  '•  was  after  the 
lord,  my  father,  had  left  Chiozza  ;  and  he  did  not 
learn  it  until  he  had  returned  to  Padua,  on  which 
he  sent  nie  here.  Such,  my  lords,  was  so  much 
of  my  message  as  1  was  free  to  tell  the  signo- 
ry before  craving  audience  of  yourselves." 

"Your  pardon,  Messer  Francesco,"  said  the 
doge ;  "  you  told  to  the  signory  the  name  of 
the  person  who  had  thus  betrayed  both  Venice 
and  your  father ;  faithless  even  in  his  treaciiery," 
"  I  did  ;  and  I  shall  tell  it  to  the  senate  ;  for, 
most  excellent  prince,  I  have  much  farther  to 
tell  yet.  My  lords,  f  have  already  told  how 
that  unlbrtunate  gentleman,  Messer  Jacopo  Ar- 
duino,  as  a  kind  friend,  (for  such,  though  un- 
happy and  poor,  he  is,)  had  carried  from  my 
father  this  gold  to  Messer  Carlo  Zeno.  In  all 
that  my  father  has  done,  that  gentleman  (I 
mean  .Messer  Jacopo)  took  no  farther  part:  he 
was  only  used  as  a  trustworthy  person  to  carry 
the  gold  secretly  and  safely.  And  now,  my 
lords,  I  will  tell  you  why  that  so  much  suspect- 
ed gold  was  sent.  While  Messer  Francesco 
da  Carrara  was  yet  young,  he  was,  as  you 
know,  discarded  by  his  family,  for  I  know  not 
what  differences  that  are  apt  to  arise  between 
the  young  and  the  old. — I  see  Messer  Pietrodi 
Bernardo  smiles ;  but  I  can  tell  him  that  be- 
tween the  young  and  the  old  Carrara  there 
have  been  none  of  tiiose  differences  ;  for  .Mes- 


ser Francesco  is  loo  wise  to  forget  what  he 
himself  was. — I  say  that  when  Francesco  wan 
young.he  was  discarded  by  his  family  for  a  time  , 
and  therefore  was  in  some  trouble  and  difncul- 
ty  ;  for  if  he  had  ready  hospitality  throughout 
Italy,  since  his  presence  and  his  prowess  be- 
stowed honor  on  every  court,  yet  were  there 
limes  when  alone  the  help  of  a  father  could 
have  availed  liirn.  Now,  being  in  that  trouble, 
he  found  himself  at  Asti ;  where  for  some  oc- 
casion of  private  need, — (I  know  not  what,  and 
it  does  not  matter,)  he  wanted  the  sum  of 
2,000  ducats.  Of  all  his  friends  whom  he  could 
think  of  as  likely  to  pleasure  him  freely,  with- 
out asking  reasons  or  justifications,  Messer 
Carlo  Zeno  seemed  to  him  the  best ;  and  to 
Messer  Carlo  Zeno  he  sent,  saying  only  that  he 
was  in  trouble  for  want  of  2,000  ducats  of  gold. 
Before  he  thought  he  could  have  an  answer 
tlic-re  came  to  him  two  gentlemen,  who  had 
travelled  all  the  way  from  Turin  on  horseback, 
almost  without  drawing  bridle,  (Messer  Zeno 
was  then  staying  at  Turin,)  to  bring  him  this 
gold.  In  after  time,  v/hen  both  had  grown 
older,  Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara  would  have 
paid  back  this  money  ;  but  while  Messer  Zeno 
ever  told  him  that  he  needed  it  not,  so  Messer 
da  Carrara,  for  all  he  was  so  powerful,  as  Venice 
can  tell,  never  had  such  abundance  of  gold  that 
he  could  easily  repay  it ;  since  one  part  of  his 
power  has  grown  out  of  that  generosity  which 
makes  him  think  too  lightly  of  these  matters. 
But  now,  when  this  great  quarrel  between 
Venice  and  Carrara  had  come  to  such  pass, 
that  truly  it  seemed  one  must  destroy  the  other, 
it  weighed  upon  my  father's  mind  that  he  should 
hold  money  belonging  to  Messer  Zeno.  And 
he  was  eager  to  pay  it,  for  two  reasons  ;  first, 
because  he  would  not  have  one  of  so  high  sta- 
tion in  Venice  be  a  creditor  of  his  while  he  was 
working  the  overthrow  of  the  republic  ;  second- 
ly,— and  this  was  the  strongest  reason, — be- 
cause he  knew  that  Messer  Zeno,  with  so 
great  love  for  his  country,  would  not  stop  in 
spending  his  whole  substance  for  his  benefit ; 
and  therefore  to  keep  back  the  money  was  not 
only  to  take  an  advantage  of  Venice  in  her 
need,  such  only  as  might  beseem  some  base 
usurer,  and  not  a  high  and  mighty  prince,  but 
also  it  was  to  do  great  harm  in  his  private  wel- 
fare to  Messer  Zeno ;  and  therefore,  I  say, 
.Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara  cast  about  to 
find  one  by  whom  he  could  send  this  gold  to 
Messer  Zeno  ;  and  I  have  told  you  how  he  sent 
it.  That,  my  lords,  is  the  great  issue  of  all 
this  conspiracy  between  Messer  Carrara  and 
Messer  Zeno,  of  wh'ch  you  have  heard  so 
much.  And  now  tuat  you  may  believe  what  I 
say  is  true,  I  will  appeal  not  only  to  Messer 
Carlo  Zeno,  but  to  Messer  Alberti  his  friend, 
who  well  knew  this  story  before,  though  also 
he  knew  that  Zeno's  generous  mind  would 
take  offence  if  it  were  first  told  abroad  by  any 
but  Francesco  da  Carrara  himself.  And  far- 
ther I  might  bring  to  you  from  afar  the  evi- 
dence of  Messer  Girolamo  Fazio,  v.ho  was 
then  staying  at  Turin,  and  who  I  know,  for  all 
the  war  that  there  has  been  between  Venice 
and  Genoa,  would  now  come  from  his  own 
country  1o  he  a  witness  in  the  cause  of  Messer 
Zeno.  .Mso  Messer  Alberti  can  tell  you  that  I 
eould  l)rii!j^  this  witness  from  Genoa." 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


133 


Wlien  youvi;:;  ('arrara  paused,  Albert!  rose  up 
in  his  place,  and  said  that  it  was  true,  and  that 
also  the  reason  was  truly  said  why  he  had  not 
before  disclosed  the  case.  • 

"  I,  also,"  said  Andrea  Contarini,  "  can  in 
some  sort  say  that  I  know  this  to  be  true  :  for 
I  do  remember  hearing  it  told  as  a  reproach 
■3;,'ainst  Messer  da  Carrara,  when  he  was  a 
yiith  (though  I  was  then  in  mature  years),  by 
Messer  Fazio,  whom  I  met  at  Florence  ;  and 
lie  told  me  that  he  knew  it  partly  by  accident 
and  partly  because  Messer  Zeno,  not  having 
so  much  money  with  him,  had  in  turn  borrowed 
it  of  that  most  noble  Genoese.  But  when  I 
heard  of  this  passing  of  gold  between  Messer 
y.tno  and  the  Lord  of  Padua,  truly  I  had  forgot- 
ten that  early  date,  and  thought  that  it  was 
merely  a  fiction." 

"Most  noble  prince,"  continued  Francesco, 
"  I  think  that  I  have  satisfied  the  senate  of  that 
now  so  simple  a  matter ;  and  here,  most  illus- 
trious fathers,  I  have  to  claim  what  already  I 
have  claimed  of  the  doge,  and  what  now  again 
I  ask  of  him  with  you — protection  ;  for  here 
begins  the  dangerous  part  of  my  embassy.  My 
lords,  so  eager  is  the  Lord  of  Padua  to  show 
that  all  enmity  to  your  republic  has  past  from 
his  mind,  that  verily  he  is  disposed  to  make 
known  to  you  even  the  schemes  with  which  he 
thought  to  work  your  overthrow  ;  so  that  truly 
you  may  see  that  hereafter  he  means  to  hold 
no  reserve  by  which  again  he  could  compass 
aught  against  you.  My  lords,  if  there  has  been 
treachery  among  you,  also  that  treachery  has 
turned  against  himself;  and  the  shameless 
traitors  have  striven  not  only  to  work  for  him 
against  Venice,  but  to  make  a  tool  of  him  ;  as 
though  great  princes  could  be  the  playthings  of 
base  and  obscure  men  ;  and  men,  too,  of  the 
basest.  Monsignore,  I  ask  you  to  place  before 
the  senate  that  man  of  whom  I  spoke,  and  whom 
I  now  name,  called  Alessandro  da  Padova." 

"  I  have  given  order  for  his  arrest,"  said  the 
doge.  "  Let  him  be  brought  in.  You,  I  think 
it  was,  to  whom  I  gave  the  order,"  said  Conta- 
rini to  one  of  the  attendants. 

"No,  my  lord,  it  was  Pietro  Vantini." 

"  Is  the  man  taken  V 

"  He  is  taken,  and  yet  he  cannot  come  ;  for 
strange  events  have  not  yet  ceased  in  this  our 
city :  they  have  brought,  not  the  man  but  his 
•dead  body." 

"  His  dead  body  !  How  is  this  1  I  told  them 
to  be  careful  that  he  was  not  hurt." 

"They  found  him  not  alive  but  dead;  and 
dead  they  have  brought  hiui  hither." 

"  Send  Vantini  before  us  ;  and  let  him  bring 
the  body,  that  we  may  know  the  truth." 

The  attendant  disappeared.  A  low  murmur, 
like  a  rising  wind,  ran  through  the  assembly; 
the  senators  conversing  with  each  other  in 
whispers  while  they  waited  :  when  a  man's 
voice  told  them  that  the  servant  had  returned. 

"  Messer  lo  Doge,"  said  the  jnan,  "  there  is 
the  body  here  ;  but  we  cannot  bring  it  in  for  a 
woman  who  is  with  it,  and  will  not  let  it  leave 
her ;  and  we  know  not  whether  to  part  her  by 
force,  or  to  bring  her  in  too." 

"  Who  is  she  1  These  strange  disorders  must 
1(6  abated,  for  there  is  no  longer  a  fell  and  dan- 
gerous war  to  be  their  e.xcuse.     Who  is  she  V 

"My  'o-'a^  -vc  krow  ro*  '" 


"  W^ith  your  pardon,"  said  Ranieri  aloud, 
stepping  forward,  "  this  woman  was  one  well 
known,  too  well  known  for  her,  to  Alessandro 
da  Padova ;  and  he  lying  in  the  muteness  of 
death,  she,  perchance,  may  in  some  part  sufliice 
to  speak  for  him." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth, 
ere  Marco  Morosini  started  up  as  if  stung  with 
sudden  passion,  and  cried  aloud,  "  What  strange 
and  horrible  times  are  these,  that  even  before 
our  faces  the  senate  is  thus  braved  1  What 
strange  and  horrible  times,  that  in  our  own 
city,  by  traitors,  is  the  man  we  seek  basely 
murdered  almost  in  our  presence — that  men, 
and  women,  and  boys,  come  with  brazen  fronts 
before  us,  treading  our  sacred  hall  as  though 
they  trod  the  tiles  of  the  streets,  and  chattering 
thus  !  Who  is  this  boy  that  boldly  braves  the 
majesty  of  the  senate  1  Who  is  this  boy,  I 
sayl"  The  doge  was  about  to  answer;  but 
without  heeding  him,  Morosini  continued — "  I 
know  him — I  know  the  boy  ;  he  is  the  son  of 
that  traitor  Jacopo  Arduino,  a  miserable  man 
who  wasted  his  substance,  and  then  fell  to 
treachery.  He  is  the  son  of  that  traitor  whoim 
you,  most  excellent  fathers,  have  thpught  it 
wise,  and  fit,  and  decent  for  yourselves  to  par- 
don, without  a  judgment,  upon  the  word  of  that 
young  viper  that  has  come  to  us  from  the  main 
land,  the  son  of  Venice's  arch  enemy.  I  know 
the  boy — himself  double  traitor  ;  a  traitor  with 
his  father,  and  a  traitor  to  his  father,  whom  he 
basely  sold  to  the  servants  of  the  Ten  for  the 
gold  which  was  paid  to  seize  Carrara's  messen- 
ger— Carrara's  base  accomplice  in  poisoning 
the  waters  of  our  wells."  A  growing  sound  of 
voices  now  outchid  this  burst ;  and  Morosini,  ' 
remembering  himself,  said,  "  Forgive  me,  most 
excellent  fathers,  that  I  speak  thus  passion- 
ately ;  but  there  are  among  us  men,  as  I  believe, 
faithful  men,  charged  with  heinous  crimes  ;  and 
I  see,  on  the  word  of  the  fiendish  serpent  that 
has  come  among  us,  and  on  the  babbling  credu- 
lity of  easy  and  presumptuous  age,  the  worst 
of  criminals  set  at  large  to  begin  their  practices 
anew.  You  are  rewarding  the  traitors,  and 
destroying  tlie  watchmen  of  our  city:  beware 
— beware  what  you  do." 

"This,  my  lord,"  said  Francesco,  is  some- 
thing which  I  do  not  understand.  I  know  not 
what  it  means  ;  though  I  know  and  will  tell 
you  how  Messer  Morosini  himself  may  be  con- 
cerned in  these  dangerous  treacheries." 

"  Infamous  ribald  !"  shrieked  Morosini;  but 
those  near  him  rose  too,  and  forced  him  to  sit 
down  ;  while  with  loud  commands  the  doge  re- 
stored order. 

"Noble  senators,"  said  Contarini,  "before 
we  speak  farther  of  the  matter  in  hand,  I  will 
in  brief  tell  you  the  story  of  this  yoiitli  who  has 
spoken  so  boldly,  and  whom  you  see  stand  here 
unmoved  at  this  storm  which  he  has  raised. 
Look  at  his  face,  and  tell  me  if  I  am  wrong  in 
believing  that  a  countenance  so  frank  and 
steadfast,  cannot  be  the  face  of  any  such  double 
traitor  as  we  have  heard  him  called  !  I  will 
not  keep  you  long,  scarcely  an  instant.  This 
Messer  Jacopo,  as  you  have  heard,  was  a  mosl 
poor  gentleman,  and  his  wife  was  dying,  even 
in  great  part  with  the  pressure  of  poverty  and 
sorrow  ;  the  which  seeing,  Jacopo  i>cing  some- 
what a  desperate  .man,  and  hettriughow  we  had 


132 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


offered  reward  for  his  seizure,  resolved  to  get 
this  same  reward  for  the  help  of  his  family ; 
and  thus  it  was  that  with  all  the  strength  of  a 
father's  power,  he  made  this  youth  to  go  before 
the  governor  of  your  city  and  claim  the  reward 
for  seeming  to  sell  his  parent.  That  is  the  tale 
I  have  heard ;  and  that  I  believe.  Its  truth  we 
can  prove  at  a  fitting  time." 

'•And  from  whom  comes  that  little  noveH" 
cried  Morosini,  without  rising. 

"  It  was  told  me  by  Messer  Carlo  Zeno." 

Morosini  laughed. 

"  We  can  prove  it,  I  say,  at  more  fitting 
time  ;  when  we  will  judge  farther  of  this  mat- 
ter. And  these  truly  are  matters  which  rather 
should  be  brought  before  the  Council  of  the  Ten 
than  before  the  senate.  But  it  has  been  your 
pleasure  to  receive  this  message  from  the  Lord 
of  Padua,  through  that  noble  gentleman,  his 
son  ;  and  to  hear  his  message,  we  must  hear 
it  as  he  would  deliver  it,  with  all  the  proofs  it 
is  his  choice  to  bring  ;  or  we  do  him  wrong, 
and  wrong  our  dignity,  in  revoking  what  we 
have  granted.  These  things  will  we  farther 
prove  for  ourselves  in  the  proper  mode  and 
time.  It  is  now  our  part  to  help  Messer  Fran- 
cesco^in  giving  us  his  message.  Say  again, 
young  man,  what  you  would  have  said  of  this 
young  woman  that  clings  to  the  dead  body  and 
will  not  leave  it." 

In  the  same  voice,  as  though  there  had  been 
no  interruption  and  he  said  it  for  the  first  time, 
Ranieri  repeated, "  This  woman  was  well  known 
to  Alessandro  da  Padova  ;  and,  he  lying  in  the 
muteness  of  death,  she,  perchance,  may  in  some 
part  suffice  to  speak  for  him." 

"We  will  admit  herl"  said  the  doge,  inter- 
rogatively ;  and  none  dissenting,  he  motioned 
to  the  servant ;  who  left  the  hall,  and  returned 
with  others  bearing  the  body  of  Alessandro. 
Beside  it  walked  Rosa,  whose  hand,  still  firmly 
clutched  the  wet  cloak  of  the  drowned  man. 
She  looked  around  with  an  unchanged  face  on 
the  potent  assembly,  so  seldom  faced  by  wo- 
men. When  they  placed  the  body  on  the 
ground,  as  if  knowing  that  it  would  nut  be  sud- 
denly removed,  she  left  her  hold  and  stood  with 
it  before  her  at  her  feet. 

Breaking  the  silence,  the  doge  said,  "  How 
was  it  that  this  man  was  slain  1" 

"  My  lord,"  said  one  of  the  bearers,  "  he  was 
drowned  by  the  people  after  they  had  rescued 
from  him  Messer  Jacopo  Arduino  ;  whom  he 
would  have  thrown  into  the  water.  They  set 
up  a  cry  that  he  was  a  spy  of  Carrara's,  and 
thus  they  slew  him.  He  was  dead  when  we 
came  up  with  them." 

"  We  must  look  farther  into  this.  Let  some 
of  those  who  slew  him  be  seized,  that  they  may 
account  for  it.  We  must  purge  the  city  of 
these  disorders  ;  for  its  quiet  must  not  thus  be 
broken.  Venice  is  growing  as  rude  and  riotous 
as  many  another  city ;  even  Florence  herself 
might  cast  back  the  worst  reproaches  in  our 
teeth.  Look  to  that,  Vantini.  Here,  Messer 
Francesco  da  Carrara,  in  such  state  as  you  see 
him,  is  the  man  whom  you  have  demanded." 

"My  lord,"  answered  Francesco,  "the  man 
can  no  longer  speak :  that  might  matter  little, 
lor  seldom  did  his  speech  go  direct  to  the  truth. 
But  I  have  a  worse  difficulty  here  than  his 
dumbness.    Who  is  this  woman  1     That  slie  is 


his  so  faithful  companion  I  might  suspect  hef 
to  be  of  little  worth  ;  but  still  I  would  not  grieve 
any  woman's  ears  with  the  things  I  have  to 
say." 

"  You  have  heard  what  the  youth  Ranieri 
said  of  her.  Would  you  wish  her  to  be  re- 
moved 1" 

"  There  is  no  need,"  said  Rosa,  who  had 
listened  unmoved.  "  There  is  no  grief  remain- 
ing for  these  ears  to  learn.  Be  not  amazed, 
Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara,  nor  think  that  I 
cling  to  these  miserable  remains  solely  through 
love.  It  is  not  on  earth  that  any  man  should 
be  quite  abandoned ;  but  if  I  were  to  leave 
them,  would  this  unhappy  wretch  be  utterly 
left  by  all.  Therefore  will  I  see  them  to  the 
last,  so  long  as  they  remain  upon  earth.  Speak 
on." 

"  There  is  a  boldness  in  your  words,"  an- 
swered Francesco,  "  which  removes  my  doubt. 
My  lord  doge,  you  have  in  your  presence  an- 
other prisoner,  whom  people  used  to  call  la 
Gobba ;  let  her  be  brought,  and  her  son  ;  and 
while  they  are  fetched  1  will  proceed." 

"Go  fetch  her,  Vantini,"  said  the  doge; 
"  but  her  son  we  have  not.  When  the  woman 
was  seized,  Messer  Francesco,  the  son,  who 
played  the  spy  upon  his  mother  and  upon  the 
other  traitors,  disclosed  their  practices  to  us.  1 
believe  first  to  the  man  that  lies  dead." 

"Aye,  my  lord,"  said  Francesco;  "to  no 
other.     But  cannot  the  son  be  found  V 

"  We  need  not  seek  him  far,"  said  Vantini ; 
"  for  we  have  him  without." 

"  Bring  him  in  then,"  continued  Francesco, 
"  with  his  mother  ;  for  such  is  the  pleasure  oi 
the  doge.  Most  noble  senators,  you  wifl  re- 
member, and  you  knew  it  long  before  the  Lord 
of  Padua,  that  he  was  most  foully  accused  oi 
sending  to  Venice,  for  that  deadly  purpose  ol 
which  Messer  Morosini  spake  but  now, — to 
poison  the  waters  of  your  wells.  It  was  a  cal- 
umny most  foul.  Say  that  Francesco  da  Car- 
rara were  so  base  as  to  seek  the  destruction  of 
the  innocent  and  the  helpless,  stdl  had  he  in 
Venice  most  true  friends;  aye,,  truer  friends 
than  those  who  were  ready  to  aid  him  in  what 
in  them  was  treachery,  for  they  were  Vene- 
tians. But  he  had  in  Venice  at  least  one  friend, 
or  those  whom  that  friend  held  most  dear  ;  and 
rather  than  triumph  by  such  means,  he  would 
have  abandoned  the  whole  war.  Think  you 
that  he  would  thus  have  invaded  the  palace  ol 
Carlo  Zeno!  Can  it  be  said, — did  ever  any 
man  say  the  word — that  Francesco  da  Carrara 
was  faithless  to  the  friends  of  his  person  } 
Never.  But  I  will  show  you  how  this  calumny 
began.  There  it  began,"  pointing  to  the  dead 
body  ;  "  and  here  comes  one  who  may  tell  you 
how  it  went  farther,  though  I  doubt  me  ;  for 
see  how  bent  and  palsied  she  is."  he  added 
pointing  to  la  Gobba  ;  who  was  led  in  by  two 
men  vviih  slow  and  (altering  steps.  "Whether 
that  tottering  hag  will  have  the  memory  or  the 
power  to  tell,  in  her  house  was  it  that  tins  con- 
spiracy was  made — a  conspiracy,  not  to  poison 
the  wells  of  Venice,  but  to  make  the  people 
of  Venice  believe  that  Francesco  da  Carrara 
was  guilty  of  that  deadly  crime.  She  might 
tell  you  from  whose  lips  the  words  first  came." 

AU  were  silent ;  while  the  old  woman,  whose 
accent  garD  and  good  comJiiion  showeo  to  wiiai 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


133 


obscure  abodes  Contarini's  humanity  pene- 
trated, stared  around  her  in  amaze  ;  and  then 
dropping  her  eyes  upon  the  ground,  siie  remain- 
ed sunk  in  the  passive  helplessness  of  extreme 
age. 

"  What  is  her  name  1"  said  the  doge. 

"  We  do  not  remember,  my  lord,"  replied 
Vantini.     "  She  was  called  la  Gobba." 

"  Speak  to  her,  and  see  if  she  will  answer." 

Vantini  spoke  :  he  asked  her  if  she  knew 
him,  if  she  remembered  the  poisoning  of  the 
wells,  and  other  questions  ;  but,  at  times  shak- 
ing her  head,  or  groaning  with  an  ostentatious 
display  of  her  feebleness,  or  grinning  with  idle 
delight,  as  if  a  glimmer  of  sense  revived  her 
her  faculties,  she  made  no  intelhgible  answer. 
'I'he  doge  addressed  her  from  the  throne  in 
vain  :  Francesco  was  alike  unsuccessful.  Carlo 
Zeno  pointed  to  her;  and  Edward,  drawing 
close,  asked  her  if  she  remembered  him.  She 
grasped  his  hand,  and  looked  as  though  she 
would  have  spoken,  but  it  died  away  in  a  mur- 
mured laugh. 

"  My  lord,"  exclaimed  Vantini,  "  she  is  a 
babe  again." 

"  Bring  in  the  son,"  said  Francesco. 

Vantini  went  out,  and  returned  with  two 
more  supporting  Nadale  ;  and  one  behind  fol- 
lowed with  a  stool,  which  he  placed  for  the 
ruffian  to  sit  upon,  for  he  was  too  weak  to 
stand.  He  sat  him  down  between  the  body, 
and  his  mother  where  she  stood.  As  he  sat 
he  folded  his  arms,  and  cast  his  eyes  around. 
For  all  the  frown  upon  his  face,  and  the  hag- 
gard paleness,  and  the  twist  of  his  jaw,  there 
was  a  lurking  smile  ;  and  he  slowly  passed  his 
eyes  from  face  to  face,  as  if  from  the  throne 
of  mortal  sickness  he  braved  the  throned  power 
of  Venice,  and  so  took  his  parting  revenge  of 
fortune. 

"  This,  then,"  said  Francesco,  "  is  the  wo- 
man's son.  You  are  Nadale  T'  The  man 
turned  his  eyes  to  him  in  answer.  -'Know 
you  that  aged  woman  V 

"  Ay  ;  a  son  does  not  forgot  his  mother  in  a 
year  ;  though  sons  may  so  alter  that  mothers 
will  forget  them.  I  am  not  what  I  was  then, 
even  if  she  had  the  wits  to  know  me.  But 
others  are  altered  too — and  more  may  change 
before  we  have  linished,  Messer  Francesco  da 
Carrara." 

"  You  say  true.  Can  you  make  her  tell  us 
who  it  was  that  first  spoke  of  poisoning  the 
wells  in  Venice,  for  we  cannot  1" 

"No;  no  man  can  make  her  answer.  Her 
wits  have  gone.  Can  you  not  see  it  in  her 
eyes  1  And  did  you  ever  see  any  with  her  wits 
left  that  had  so  wet  a  chin  1  There  is  no 
farther  good  in  her  but  to  be  buried.  But  I 
can  tell  you,  and  I  will  tell  you  all."  And  then 
he  called  out  in  a  loud  and  hollow  voice,  as  if 
he  defied  the  senate  itseU— "  All !" 

"  Say  it,  then — who  it  was  ;  and  you  will  re- 
member, most  noble  senators,"  added  Fran- 
cesco, turning  to  them,  "  that  what  words  1 
have  said  this  man  cannot  know  :  he  speaks 
alone  on  the  teaching  of  the  deeds  that  have 
been  done."     He  waited  the  answer. 

"  He  that  first  spoke  of  poisoning  the  wells  of 
Venice,"  said  Nadale, '-lies  there;"  pointing 
to  the  body.  "  He  made  rac  get  some  lellows 
that  I  knew  to  confess  that  they  iiad  done  it, 


and  told  me  to  confess  ;  and  he  promised  tha! 
he  would  rescue  us,  and  so  it  was  ;  save  that 
those  others,  poor  wretches  that   were  of  no 

use  but  to  confess what  became  of  them 

I  know  not :  and  also  that  old  woman  went  to 
prison,  and  was  left  there,  that  the  tale  might 
not  die  away." 

"  And  no  wells,"  asked  Francesco,  "  were 
poisoned  !" 

"Ay,  were  they.  They  were  poisoned  by 
terror  and  fright ;  for  I  tell  you,  that  after  that, 
no  water  tasted  sweet  for  many  a  day.  But 
there  was  no  other  poison  thrown  in ;  it  did 
not  need  that,  for  the  trick  worked  well  enough 
without." 

"  And  this  was  the  man,"  exclaimed  Fran- 
cesco, earnestly,  "  that  was  so  trusted ;  who 
sat  even  by  his  proxy  in  the  senate  !  This  was 
the  man  whom  Marco  Morosini — " 

Marco  Morosini  rose  up.  He  tried  to  speak  ; 
but  his  teeth  chattered,  and  his  lips  trembled. 

"  I  accuse  not  .Marco  Morosini,"  said  Fran- 
cesco, "  as  yet.  It  is  enough  that  he  was  the 
servant  of  this  drowned  traitor,  who  held  in 
his  single  hand  the  whole  mischief  of  Venice. 
But  we  must  have  you  speak  farther,"  he  add- 
ed, to  the  man.  "  You  must  know,  most  noble 
senators,  that  throughout,  and  especially  after, 
the  war  of  Chiozza,  the  aim  and  purpose  of  this 
traitor  was  to  drive  Andrea  Contarini  from  that 
seat,  and  to  seat  there  no  other  than  Marco 
Morosini.  I  do  not  wonder,  Messer  Morosini, 
that  you  are  moved  ;  but  hear  me  out.  For 
this  purpose  was  it  that  Andrea  Contarini  was 
to  be  struck  by  beating  down  Carlo  Zeno.  For 
this  purpose  was  Venice  terrified  by  the  crimes 
of  Francesco  da  Carrara,  which  he  had  never 
devised  ;  because  Venice  was  to  be  enraged 
against  Carrara,  that  he  himself  might  hold  no 
power  in  the  republic,  save  such  as  this  dis- 
sembler chose  to  vouchsafe.  And  there  were 
those  who  helped  Alessandro  Padovano  in  this 
double  scheme  :  one  is  here."  He  turned  and 
beckoned  towar-'s  the  group  of  attendants  that 
stood  at  some  i  ='tance  behind  him  :  a  man 
dressed  like  a  m^  k  came  forward.  "  This 
man,"  continued  the  voung  Lord  of  Padua, 
"Messer  Morosini  has  known  —  right  inno- 
cently— as  a  prisoner  with  himself;  and  he 
can  tell  you  where  that  was.  Throw  off  your 
pious  gown,  Marco."  The  man  obeyed,  and 
uncovered  a  soldier's  mail.  "  Were  Messer 
Pietro  Emo  here,  he  would  tell  you  whither 
this  stout  soldier  led  him  one  night  from  Chi- 
ozza ;  but  he  being  away,  others  can  say." 

"  I  do  begin  to  think  that  I  have  dreamed  all 
through  my  life,"  exclaimed  Marco  Morosini ; 
or  rather  that  now  I  wake  from  life  into  a 
dream  of  death  and  doubt ;  so  strange  a  juggle 
is  it  that  Messer  Francesco  unfolds,  or  does 
himself  put  upon  us." 

"  I  unmake,  not  make  the  juggle.  This 
man,  craving  for  him  your  protection,  most  no- 
ble prince,  shall  abide  your  pleasure  here  in 
Venice  as  a  witness  for  the  service  of  the  Ten. 
But  there  were  other  aids  that  the  Lord  of  Pa- 
dua found — even  among  yourselves  in  this  your 
senate  :  I  will  not  hold  your  astonished  ears  in 
pain.     These  are  their  names " 

So  many  started  in  their  seats  at  the  sound 
of  those  words,  that  it  almost  seemed  as  if  the 
whole  senate  were  moved 


134 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


"  They  are " 

He  was  inierrupted.  "  One  name,"  cried 
Lionardo,  "I  will  give  you:  it  was  Lionardo 
Morosini."  Disregarding  the  start  of  astonish- 
ment in  all  around,  he  said  with  a  faint  laugh, 
"  You  have  a  witness  more  than  you  counted 
for,  Messer  Francesco." 

''  One  name  has  been  told  to  you,  most  noble 
senators — the  others  are  these :  Ser  Luigi  da 
Molino,  whom  I  do  not  see  here  ;  but  before 
you,  besides  him,  there  are,  Ser  Marin  Bar- 
barigo  ;  and  now  I  think  that  pair  of  pale  faces 
will  tell  you,  before  I  say  the  names,  that  there 
are  also  Ser  IXicolo  di  Bernardo,  and  Ser  Pie- 
tro  di  Bernardo." 

"  And  what  of  my  most  excellent  cousin 
Marco!"  cried  Lionardo. 

"This  :  he  knew  of  your  treachery,  hut  did 
not  disclose  it.  He  might  have  joined  it ;  but 
I  will  say  that  the  treachery  of  Messer  Marco 
Morosini  lies  drowned  there."  His  finger 
pointed  at  the  body. 

"  And  what,"  cried  the  sharp  and  angry 
voice  of  Malipiero,  "  what  of  me  ]  for  ever  and 
anon  I  see  your  eye,  Francesco  da  Carrara, 
turn  with  a  cunning  leer  on  me."  Renewed 
astonishment  seemed  to  possess  the  senate,  as 
traitor  after  traitor  had  been  exposed  in  its 
own  body ;  but  when  the  chivalrous  Malipiero 
seemed  thus  by  his  passionate  defiance  to  con- 
fess a  fear  of  accusation,  many  a  one  thought 
that  the  doom  of  all  honor  had  come. 

"  H»ld  your  peace,  Messer  Malipiero,"  an- 
swered the  young  Paduan  ;  "and  remember 
your  compact.  I  will  say  to  the  senate,  that  in 
the  war  a  violence  was  put  upon  Messer  Mali- 
piero, whose  power  and  lioslile  councils  Carrara 
had  so  often  felt ;  but  if  Venice  had  no  worse 
traitors  than  Malipiero,  truly  it  would  be  more 
for  the  honor  of  her  nobles." 

"It  is  not  enough,"  cried  Malipiero. 

"  Hold  your  peace,  sir ;  I  will  give  you  no 
farther  answer  now.  Let  us  go  on  with  what 
is  before  us  ;  for  that  is  enough  to  fill  all  our 
thoughts." 

'•  Stand  by  the  doors,"  said  Contarini.  "  Let 
them  be  guarded,  and  let  none  pass  out." 

"  I  have  now  fulfilled  my  duty,"  said  Fran- 
cesco. "  I  have  told  you  all;  and  in  doing  so 
I  have  made  known  how  earnest  is  the  desire 
of  Francesco  da  Carrara  to  secure  the  friend- 
ship of  the  republic.  What  farther  remains  for 
you  to  inquire,  it  is  for  you  to  judge.  The 
traitors  who  have  betrayed  both  you  and  him  I 
have  made  known  to  you  :  deal  with  them  as 
you  will.  He  has  no  revenge  for  them  ;  but 
their  safety  must  not  be  bought  with  your  peril 
in  time  of  peace,  or  with  his  dishonor  at  any 
time." 

"No,"  exclaimed  Morosini,  in  a  firmer  voice 
than  he  had  yet  spoken  ;  standing  erect,  and 
holding  forth  his  right  arm  as  he  turned  to  the 
doge — "  No  ;  Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara  has 
not  told  you  all.  He  has  not  told  you  of  another 
traitor,  another  even  of  the  unhappy  blood  of 
Morosini,  who  erred  through  too  much  love  to 
Venice  ;  but  I,  the  traitor,  will  follow — with,  I 
trust,  a  nobler  wish — the  example  of  my  cousin 
Lionardo.  You  have  not  been  told  that  I  not 
only  knew  of  this  treachery,  but  that  I  had 
consented — yes,  start  not,  monsignor — that  J 
had  consented  to  join  with  Messer  Francesco 


da  Carrara  the  elder.  But  if  that  my  cruna 
shocks  you,  my  countrymen,  remember  thai 
throughout  I  believed  the  rule  of  Messer  Andrea 
Contarini  most  dangerous  to  Venice.  He  pro- 
voked the  enemies  most  powerful  to  destroy 
us ;  he  did  not  gain  the  friendship  of  citizens 
most  able  to  defend  the  republic  ;  and  in  all  his 
measures,  not  only  did  some  mischance  defeat 
them,  or  partly  defeat  them,  but  those  who 
were  ablest  to  perform  were  neglected  ;  and 
thus  it  was  that  I — even  so  humble  a  man  as  I 
am — at  every  turn,  was  thwarted  in  my  efforts 
to  serve  our  city.  Long  persuaded  of  this  bad 
rule,  and  at  last  believing  that  in  his  sincerity, 
of  which  you  have  token  this  day,  Francesco 
da  Carrara,  the  father,  was  a  better  friend  to 
Venice  than  Andrea  Contarini,  I  had,  and  I 
stand  confessed  before  you,  consented  to  league 
with  him  unknown  to  the  senate  :  that  I  did 
so,  unknown  to  the  senate,  was  a  fault,  a  most 
grievous  fault  and  crime.  Now,  it  is  only  left 
for  me  to  crave  from  the  senate  that  punish- 
ment which  is  my  due  ;  or  license,  at  least,  to 
seek  that  penitence  which  henceforward  mutt 
be  my  chiefest  glory.  And  let  me  farther  say, 
that  never  should  this  have  been,  had  1  not  too 
far  trusted  one  whose  commanding  power  is 
seen  even  in  the  number  of  instruments  that 
we  find  him  to  have  possessed  in  this  our  sen- 
ate ;  I  mean  that  terrible  traitor  whom  till  now 
I  loved  as  a  brother." 

Morosini's  form  was  still  erect ;  the  echoes 
of  his  loud,  clear  voice,  still  rang  throughout 
the  hall,  when  a  movement  near  the  dead  body, 
to  which  he  pointed,  drew  every  eye  from  him. 
It  was  Rosa,  who,  taking  a  step  or  two  for- 
ward, burst  forth, — "  Let  not  the  mocking  peni- 
tence of  a  coward  before  disgrace  deceive  you, 
senators  ;  let  not  the  fallen  alone  suffer,  and 
all  the  crime  be  charged  upon  him  alone  who 
cannot  defend  himself,  Ihougii  best  of  all  he 
would  have  repulsed  assault  had  he  been  here 
in  life.  Think  not  that  Messer  Marco  Morosini 
is  alone  so  exalted  in  his  crimes.  Truly  under 
that  high  dignity  he  conceals  such  coward 
baseness,  as  each  man  here  would  scorn  to  be 
his  fellow.  Ask  him  where  is  that  ill-used 
lady,. Teresa  Arduinol  Ask  him,  who,  for  her 
sake,  followed  with  false  accusal  that  unhappy 
gentleman,  her  father! — who  rudely  violated 
the  sacred  quiet  of  her  dying  mother  1 — who, 
when  she  most  nobly  came  before  the  great 
council,  to  render  up  the  gold  for  which  her 
father  had  sacrificed  himself,  rather  than  eat 
the  bread  of  his  misery, — who  it  was,  that  even 
then  would  have  tortured  her  with  public  dis- 
grace, to  force  her  to  his  vile  intent !  And  let 
him  tell  you  where  she  is  now.  Ask  him, 
there,  as  he  stands  I" 

The  senators  looked  at  Morosini.  He  stared 
at  Rosa  in  pale  bewilderment. 

"  He  will  not  answer  you,"  she  cried,  with 
increasing  energy  ;  "  then  I  will  tell  you.  Seized 
by  that  distorted  ruffian— seized  by  the  order 
of  that  too  faithful  brother — she  is  now  in  Marco 
Morosini's  house." 

Again  the  senators  looked  at  Morosini.  He 
glanced  from  eye  to  eye,  as  if  he  sought  es- 
cape— he  gasped — he  burst  into  tears.  Again 
drawing  himself  up  erect,  and  mastering  Iws 
passion  by  a  violent  effort,  he  said — "  I  confess 
it—I  do  confess  this  also.     It  is  fit,  most  ex- 


THE   FOSTER  BROTHER. 


13^ 


cdlent  fathers,  that  my  disgrace  should  come 
all  at  once  ;  so  that  my  penitence  may  be  quit 
and  clean  from  the  beginning,  and  that  I  may 
ail  at  once  renounce  these  hateful  sins."^ 

A  harsh  chuckle  answered  him  ;  and  Nadale 
exclaimed,  "In  sooth,  there  are  more  cunning 
ones,  Messer  Marco  Morosini,  than  we  thought 
lor.  I  know  not  where  this  girl  has  learnt  to 
see  through  our  schemes.  And  yet,"  he  said, 
laughing  again,  "there  are  things  which  she 
sees  not.  Now,  look  you,  noble  sirs  ;  see  how 
she  stands  by  to  guard  this  man's  body.  After 
we  had  got  it  on  shore,  you  might  have  seen 
lier  walk  by  its  side,  holding  it  every  step  by 
the  cloak  ;  so  faithful  was  she.  Now,  you  see, 
she  thought  that  this  man  had  loved  her ;  for 
liow  could  she  tell  otherwise  ]  It  is  not  wet  or 
^ry  clothes  that  can  teach  you  whether  a  man 
loves  you  or  not.  So  she  walked  even  into 
this  hall ;  for  I  saw  her  brought  in,  still  clutch- 
in-r  this  man's  body.  You  have  been  sitting, 
noble  senators,  side  by  side  with  traitors,  and 
you  could  not  tell  that  the  honest  men  had 
turned  traitors,  like  Messer  Marco  Morosini 
there  ;  you  law  no  difference  in  him  before  and 

after " 

"Silence  this  ribaldry  !"  exclaimed  the  doge. 
"  Remove  liiai  if  he  speak." 

"  Nay,  hear  me  out,  and  I  will  tell  it  you  in 
brief.  This  damsel,  or  woman,  or  lady — for  I 
know  not  what  to  call  her — as  you  saw,  noble 
senators,  still  clutched  this  man,  believing  him 
her  lover.  I  ask  you  how  she  could  tell  what 
he  would  have  done  to  her  had  he  been  alive"! 
how  could  she  tell  that  he  had  paid  me  these 
two  ducats,  good  gold,"  taking  them  out,  and 
tossing  them  in  his  hands,  "  to  make  her  as 
dead  as  he  now  lies  1  I  took  the  ducats  in  pity 
to  the  girl,  meaning  to  tell  her  ;  and  now  we 
are  both  the  safer  that  he  lies  thus." 

Rosa,  who  had  turned  deadly  pale,  looked 
hard  upon  the  ruffian,  and  asked,  "  When  was 
this]" 

"Aye,  now  she  is  altered  too;  but  you  see 
we  do  not  know  these  things  till  we  lind  them 
out.  It  was  last  night  ;  you  had  but  just  left 
him." 

"  It  is  false.  You  have  no  proof" 
"  Nay,  I  will  tell  you  why  he  said  it.  He 
said  that  you  were  in  his  way,  and  that  you 
%vere  coming  again  in  two  days,  but  he  wished 
you  to  come  no  more ;  and  then  he  gave  me 
llie  ducats.  We  all  know  what  that  means. 
Aye,  you  look  as  if  you  believe  now  ;  and  I  will 
tell  you  why  you  were  in  his  way  ;  for  that, 
too,  I  can  guess,  though  he  did  not  tell  me  :  he 
was  going,  and  that  noble  penitent  there  can 
bear  me  witness,  to  marry  the  Lady  Angiolina  ; 
and  I  think  if  he  had  married  her,  you  would 
have  been  troublesome.  Look  at  Messer  Mo- 
losini,  he  does  not  gainsay  it ;  and  Nadale  fin- 
ished with  another  chuckle. 

Rosa  searched  into  his  eyes  to  see  if  there 
was  any  siiow  of  falsehood  lurking  there — she 
looked  at  the  dead  body  of  the  overbearing  and 
lawless  Alessandro  —  a  shudder  passed  over 
her  as  if  she  were  cold — she  folded  her  arms 
across  her  breast,  and  turning  from  the  two, 
'.he  living  and  the  dead  rutiian,  she  walked 
away  from  them  ;  her  stops  tottered,  and  she 
would  have  fallen,  but  running  towards  her, 
Sebastian    and   Ranieri   caught  her  in    their 


arms,  and  drew  her  aside  under  an  open  win- 
dow. 

"  Remove  the  body,"  said  the  doge,  in  a 
gentle  voice,  "  that  it  may  not  meet  her  eyes 
agaiii." 

A  new  voice  arrested  every  ear,  as  Carlo 
Zeno,  rising  in  his  seat,  said,  with  a  grave  but 
not  angry  face,  "I  could  wish,  most  excellent 
fathers,  that  all  here  had  as  much  reason  to  be 
contented  with  what  has  passed  as  I  have  ; 
but  it  may  not  always  be  so  ;  and  yesterday 
others'  triumph  was  my  peril.  Let  us  not  im- 
itate the  wrong-doing  we  have  suffered  from. 
Our  noble  visiter  has  truly  said,  that  Messer 
Marco  Morosini's  fault  lies  dead  and  drowned 
there.  You  see  from  the  plainest  tokens  that 
he  is  truly  penitent.  There  is  no  charge  against 
him.  Let  him  go  fortii,  and  repair  the  wrong 
he  did  in  grievous  mistake.  For  others  that 
have  been  more  strongly  accused,  they  must 
have  justice  done  to  tliem ;  and  let  us  hope 
that  the  justice  may  also  prove  mercy.  For 
that  unhappy  lady,  let  her  stand  excused,  since 
on  every  side  most  grievous  wrong  has  been 
done  to  her.  Sl.e  shall  be  cared  for ;  and  the 
lady  who  is  now  known  to  be  in  Messer  Mo- 
rosini's house,  will  also  be  well  bestowed  ;  for 
of  that  house  are  her  best  friends.  And  I  have 
to  crave  that,  for  the  present,  this  sick  man, 
who  has  scarcely  yet  been  accused  before  us, 
may  be  left  to  my  care  ;  for  him  I  will  use  to 
bring  farther  proof  of  the  dangers  which  have 
come  to  Venice.  He  shall  be  safely  restored 
when  claimed  by  the  officers  of  justice." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  the  doge  ;  "  we  owe  you 
some  guerdon,  Messer  Carlo  Zeno,  for  the 
wrong  that  we  have  suffered  to  be  put  upon 
you  ;  and  our  guerdon  shall  be,  that  you  shall 
have  the  freedom  you  ask  to  serve  so  many 
unfortunates,  and  to  give  one  more  of  the 
thousand  services  that  you  have  rendered  to 
Venice." 

"  Do  with  nic  as  you  will,"  cried  Nadale, 
"  but  what  will  you  do  with  this  witless  old 
woman  1  See  how  she  winks  and  nods.  She  is 
sleepy  with  the  sleep  of  death,  and  pines  for 
her  bed  of  stone." 

"  Great  wrong  has  been  done  to  her,"  an- 
swered the  doge  ; — "  in  human  ignorance,  great 
wrong — and  she  shall  have  what  amends  she 
may,  in  reverend  care  of  her  foolish  age,  with 
nought  to  do  but  to  breathe  the  free  air  of 
Venice." 

"  Andrea  Contarini,"  said  the  ruffian,  "  if 
there  were  more  men  like  you,  there  would  in 
Venice  be  fewer  men  like  me." 

"  One  word  more,"  cried  Morosini,  rising 
proudly — "  If  I  understand  aright,  I  am  free.  I 
will  ask  of  you,  Messer  Zeno,  and  of  all  of  you 
whom  it  may  concern,  that  you  will  do  me  this 
last  favor  —  to  come  to  my  house  this  night, 
some  two  hours  after  sunset  ;  for  I  have  there 
a  duty  to  perform  of  which  you  shall  be  the 
witnesses." 

"  We  will  attend  you,"  said  Zeno. 

Morosini  walked  across  the  hall  to  leave  it. 
His  path  lay  near  the  foster  brother's  body.  He 
stopped  and  looked  where  it  lay ;  once  so  deftly 
powerful,  now  a  helpless  lump.  A  shuddering 
pang  passed  over  the  senator's  breast  as  lie 
gazed  upon  it,  and  thought  how  that  vigorous 
Ufe  had  gone  for  ever,  never  again  to  guile  his 


136 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


way,  even  to  crime.  "  Unhappy  that  he  was, 
Vantini !"  said  the  noble.  "  We  all  do  sin,  and 
he  was  not  my  foe,  save  in  too  great  love". 
Will  it  please  you  to  speak  with,  me  hereafter  1 
for  I  would  do  penance  for  him  who  served  me 
so  indiscreetly  ;  and  gold  shall  flow  for  his  sal- 
vation and  favor  in  the  sight  of  heaven.  We 
must  all  make  our  peace,  good  Vantini  ;  and 
this  shall  remind  you  of  your  errand."  He 
drew  forth  a  poniard,  curiously  wrought  with 
jewels.  "  I  shall  need  such  no  more."  A  loud 
sigh  burst  unwilling  from  his  bosom,  and  he 
strode  from  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  LXH. 

Map"30  Morosini  left  the  palace  with  impa- 
tient steps.  His  boatmen  feared  to  interrupt 
his  angry  taciturnity,  and  took  him  homeward  at 
a  guess.  He  entered  his  palace  as  if  life  and 
death  depended  on  his  speed.  His  first  words 
were,  to  order  a  high  banquet  to  be  prepared  ; 
his  next  to  summon  the  holy  man  who  was  wont 
to  confess  him.  With  him  he  spent  long  time  ; 
and  issuing  forth  from  his  chamber  with  a 
more  composed  aspect,  he  passed  to  that  of  his 
daughter. 

Angiolina  had  so  far  forgotten  her  hopes,  that 
she  had  also  forgotten  much  of  her  griefs  ;  yet, 
remembering  what  Francesco  had  told  her,  she 
started  in  affright  at  the  solemn  aspect  of  her 
father,  expecting  the  dreaded  demand. 

He  took  her  by  the  hand  more  kindly  than 
ever  he  did  in  his  life  ;  and  kissing  it  with  a 
show  of  respect  that  she  had  never  before  seen, 
asked  her  if  she  would  listen  to  him,  for  he  had 
much  to  disclose  1  In  amaze  at  his  newly-born 
humility,  she  signified  assent  by  her  silence ; 
and  he  went  on  ;  "  Never,  daughter  mine,"  he 
said,  "  have  I  had  before  to  make  so  grievous  a 
disclosure  as  now  behoves  me  ;  seeing  that 
nothing  can  be  more  terrible  than  for  a  father  to 
humble  himself  before  his  child.  But  first  tell 
me,  Angiolina,  if  ever  you  have  found  me  other 
than  indulgent  to  you,  other  than  kind  V 

This,  she  thought,  was  to  lead  to  the  terrible 
announcement.  She  drew  away  from  him,  look- 
ing round  her  in  vain  for  help  ;  but  no  Francesco 
was  there,  no  Edward,  no  Sebastian  ;  and  she 
felt  at  her  father's  mercy.  Clasping  her  hands, 
she  cried, — "  Oh,  father  mine,  kill  me  if  you 
will,  but  tell  me  not  what  is  in  your  thoughts,  for 
it  is  too  horrible  !" 

Morosini  started  with  surprise  ;  for  an  instant 
he  thought  that  his  paternal  penitence  had 
pressed  too  heavily  on  his  daughter's  tenderness; 
but  then,  seeing  her  terrified  face,  and  noting 
that  she  seemed  to  expect  him  to  t^ll  something 
as  if  she  knew  already  what  it  was,  he  divined 
that  there  was  more  in  her  fear  than  he  knew  of 
Others  had  left  him  in  enmity  ;  some  in  treach- 
ery ;  some  in  pride;  Alcssandro  in  death  ;  and 
now  the  last  of  all  who  had  once  surrounded  him 
was  to  he  driven  away  in  fear  at  he  knew  not 
what.  Doubt  and  disappointment  stung  him 
with  anger ;  and  stamping  his  foot,  he  asked 
Angiolina  in  a  louder  voice,  what  she  meant. 

Fright  made  her  silent,  until  a  sterner  ques- 
tion forced  her  to  speak.  "  The  espousal !"  she 
said, — "  that  terrible  espousal !" 


'•What  game  is  this  that  you  play  upon  met 
Am  I  an  idiot,  that  I  wander  about  the  world  to 
be  made  its  fool  1  What  espousal  have  I  put 
upon  you  ;  what  espousal  know  you  of  but  the 
one  that  I  prevented  1  Is  it  that  you  speak 
of  in  such  terror!" 

"  Alas  !  no  ;  the  other, — I  speak  of  the 
other." 

"  Of  what  other  1  tell  me,  daughter,"  cried 
Morosini,  looking  at  her  in  still  greater  doubt. 
He  remembered  Alessandro's  scheme ;  but 
Angiolina's  knowledge  of  that  treachery  seemed 
to  rise  up  in  his  path  with  a  new  shape,  like  the 
smoke  and  flame  that  rise  up  before  the  feet  of 
him  who  treads  the  treacherous  ground  about  a 
volcano. 

Angiolina's  fear  was  too  great  for  caution ; 
she  had  resigned  herself  up  to  her  fate  ;  and 
expectmg  death,  or  worse,  she  answered, — 
"  You  mean  me  to  wed  with  Messer  Alessandro 
da  Padova." 

Clenching  his  teeth  and  fist,  Morosini  started 
away  and  walked  a  few  paces  from  her.  That 
last  wrong  which  he  had  meditated,  and  which 
he  had  thought  shut  out  from  all  knowledge,  was 
then  known,  and  he  stood  before  her  not  only  a 
culprit  in  himself,  but  cruel  towards  her.  Then 
he  remembered  Alessandro's  proclaimed  treach- 
ery, and  how  he  himself  had  abandoned  his 
foster  brother  to  obloquy  ;  he  remembered  loo 
his  new  penitence,  and  his  more  sacred  life,  now 
beginning  ;  and,  lifting  his  eyes  up  to  heaven, 
he  took  comfort  to  himself  in  the  remembrance. 
He  turned  to  the  trembling  girl,  and  speaking 
yet  more  solemnly,  he  said,  "  My  daughter,  I 
pardon  you  these  doubts  ;  as  indeed  what  should 
not  so  great  a  sinner  pardon  !  I  scarcely  know, 
and  not  knowing  can  scarce  confess,  what  mad 
thoughts  may  have  been  chased  across  my  mind. 
But  dread  no  more  ;  for  he  whom  you  fear  can 
affright  you  no  longer ;  Alessandro  da  Padova 
is  dead." 

"Deadl" 

"  Dead.  He  is  dead  :  the  victim  of  his  own 
crimes  and  treachery,  too  late  known  to  me.  He 
has  fallen  under  the  violence  of  the  outraged 
people  of  Venice.  The  dreadful  story  you  will 
learn  too  soon  ;  and  my  time  now  is  short,  for  I 
have  other  things  to  prepare.  Fear  no  more, 
either,  from  me — I  command  no  longer.  I  am  a 
sinning  and  a  stricken  man  ;  humbly  craving 
pardon  from  ail,"  he  added,  with  a  bended  head, 
but  his  form  erect  and  chest  expanded,  "  craving 
pardon,  my  daughter,  even  from  my  children. 
Know,  my  daughter,  that  beyond  the  sacred 
circle  of  this  palace  I  have  been,  even  as  other 
men  are,  erring.  I  have  gone  astray  in  my 
ambitions,  in  that  I  have  been  misled  by  men 
of  less  generous  blood  ;  and  I  have  gone  astray 
in  those  shapes  also  which  it  less  behoves  a 
noble  lady  to  hear.  For  these  things  I  have 
stood  somewhat  abashed,  even  before  the  sen- 
ate ;  and  likewise  before  him  whom  now  we 
must  account  the  chief  of  our  family,  Sebastia- 
no  Morosini.  Conscious  of  these  my  great 
wrongs,  I  have  made  a  resolve  to  repair  them 
as  far  as  in  me  lies  ;  and  if  I  have  given  Sebas- 
tian offence,  I  shall  do  so  no  longer.  I  will 
cancel  all  reproaches.  But  here  I  owe  a  ten- 
derer duty,  and  am  willing  to  bow  to  an  uncon- 
trolled will.  I  have  grown  accustomed,  Angio- 
lina, now  that  I  am  old,  to  great  crosses.     Him 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


137 


whom  I  Uiought  my  faithful  friend,  Alessandro 
Padovaao,  have  I  found  a  nnost  heinous  traitor. 
You  do  not  start,  but  truly  it  is  so  ;  and  I  fear 
that  he  may  have  betrayed  more  than  I  thought 
for.  I  have  grown  used,  my  child,  to  thinlc  that 
those  who  own  me  for  father  have  right  to  deal 
with  me  as  they  will,  and  no  longer  can  I  re- 
gard Sebastian  as  other  than  the  chief  of  my 
house  ;  but  you,  my  sweet  daughter,  have  ever 
treated  me  not  as  your  enemy  ;  and  therefore 
is  your  will  stronger  over  me.  I  have  caused 
you  sorrow.  I  did  it,  little  wishing  for  your 
grief,  but  rather  thinking  of  the  honor  of  our 
house,  and  of  your  highest  good.  And  now  I 
have  come  beJbre  you,  to  humble  myself,  and 
to  say  that  it  is  at  your  choice  to  leave  your 
father,  to  add  one  more — perhaps  the  bitterest 
grief,  but  still  but  one  more — to  the  many  griefs 
that  cannot  be  avoided  ;  and  you  shall  say.  I 
do  revoke  what  before  I  commanded,  respecting 
that  young  Englishman  ;  and  now  it  shall  lie  at 
your  will  to  take  him  if  it  so  please  you," — a 
sudden  flush  warmed  Angiolina's  cheek ;  the 
senator  continued — "  and  to  leave  me  to  that 
fate  I  seek.     How  do  you  answer  ;" 

Angioiina  laid  her  head  upon  her  father's 
shoulder.  Like  the  well  scourged  dog,  that 
sees  the  gale  thrown  open  but  dares  not  pass 
it,  she  looked  at  the  liberty  that  was  offered  to 
her,  and  dared  not  take  it.  The  sight  of  it 
only  made  her  thraldom  the  more  bitter.  Her 
father  had  removed  her  worst  fears — she  owed 
some  gratitude  to  him  for  that ;  Edward,  Sebas- 
tian had  left  her ;  Francesco  had  let  Morosini 
return  before  him ;  she  had  no  .help  in  her 
weakness,  and  could  not  but  yield.  Had  she 
used  more  courage  when  Edward  was  present, 
at  the  first  contest  with  her  father,  perhaps  she 
might  now  not  have  seen  that  liberty  in  vain. 
But  she  had  yielded  up  her  spirit.  And  now, 
vhen  her  father  humbled  himsBlf,  and  seemed 
to  place  his  power  in  her  hands,  she  could  not, 
for  shame,  repulse  him  in  his  lowly  condition. 
She  did  not  love  him  more ;  and  she  hid  her 
face  in  his  breast,  partly  that  he  might  not  see 
it,  and  partly  that  she  might  suffer,  but  not 
meet  his  caresses.  As  she  rested  against  him, 
she  thought  that  of  all  others  he  had  been  her 
coldest  enemy ;  yet  he  alone  was  left  to  her. 
All  else  she  had  chosen  to  forswear ;  and  with 
a  kind  of  bitter  grudging,  mixture  of  aversion 
and  pity,  as  she  thought  how  the  world  had 
been  spoiled  by  him  for  both  of  them,  she  clung 
the  closer  to  him,  and  wept  much. 

Morosini  pressed  her  tightly  to  his  bosom ; 
and  raising  his  eyes  he  said  in  a  loud,  firm 
voice — '•  May  Holy  Mary  bless  thee,  my  child  ! 
Angioiina,  I  expected  this,  and  knew  that  Mar- 
co Morosini  was  not  to  be  quite  deserted.  Joy 
is  not  for  man  on  this  earth,  my  child  ;  but  we 
will  share  our  griefs  together." 

A  servant  entered  and  told  him  that  guests 
were  come.  "  And  is  the  banquet  ready  !"  he 
asked.  "It  is,  my  lord."  "Lead  them,  llicn, 
to  the  saloon.  Now,  I  am  ready  for  them ! 
You,  Angioiina,  I  will  bring  to  the  guests  when 
the  time  comes  ;  meanwhile,  I  must  seek  that 
lady,  who,  to  my  shame,  has  been  brought  to 
this  house."     So  saying  he  left  her. 


CHAPTER  LXni. 

MoRosiNi's  guests  were  true  to  the  appointed 
time.  Sebastian  re-entered  his  father's  house 
with  a  presentiment  of  his  increasing  power, 
and  viewing  its  lofty  walls  with  new  feelings, 
now  that  he  regarded  them  as  containing 
Teresa.  And  Edward  came,  uncertain  what 
might  happen — both  hopes  and  fears  too  vague 
to  assume  a  distinct  aspect.  Luigi  Morosini 
also  came,  Alberti,  and  many  of  the  senate  who 
owned  an  interest  in  the  house.  There  might 
be  some  twenty  or  thirty  guests.  Servants 
with  lighted  tapers  awaited  them  in  the  hall, 
and  led  them  in  silence  to  the  saloon.  The^e 
some  time  they  waited;  but  Carlo  Zenodid  not 
join  them  :  and  they  marvelled  that  Morosini 
did  not  appear  to  bid  them  welcome.  At  the 
hour  after  sunset  they  came  ;  and  the  host  who 
was  so  studious  to  receive  his  guests  with 
courtesy  did  not  show  himself  The  guests 
talked  with  each  other  ;  first  amused  with  Mo- 
rosini's  altered  habit ;  then  they  began  to  won- 
der, and  then  the  wonder  so  filled  them  that 
they  grew  silent.  Thus  passed  a  full  hour  ;  the 
silence  from  time  to  lime  broken  as  some  new 
guest  came.  Still  no  Morosini ;  and  Sebas- 
tian began  to  feel  a  darkening  doubt  that  the 
promise  to  surrender  Teresa  was  a  juggle, 
even  in  the  midst  of  the  senator's  great  peni- 
tence. 

A  little  noise  of  approaching  steps  and  voices, 
with  lights,  made  them  think  that  Morosini 
was  coining :  it  was  Carlo  Zeno,  with  Ranieri. 
He  looked  round  with  a  little  mistrusiful  smile, 
like  a  man  who  thought  he  should  be  expected  to 
make  some  strange  disclosure,  of  which  his  own 
mind  felt  the  burden.  Sebastian  hastened  tow- 
ards him,  and  asked  the  reason  of  his  long  saty. 
"  Do  you  not  know  that  I  have  been  before 
the  Ten!" 

"  The  Ten  !     No.     On  what  behalf?' 
"  As  accused.      I  had  scarcely  left  the  sen- 
ate, ere  the  officers  of  the  council  sought  me  ; 
and  I  found  my  judges  all  prepared." 
"  But  who  had  accused  you  1" 
"  Luigi  da  Molino,  the  Avogadore." 
"  Da  Molino  ! — himself  a  prisonerl" 
"  Himself  a  prisoner  ;  but  his  charge  against 
me  had  been  received  and  must  be  gone  through. 
He  afterwards  took  the  place  of  accused  ;  for 
all  the  proofs  were  so  close  and  well  prepared, 
with  the  help  of  what  I  had  learned  through 
these  my  friends,  of  the  witnesses  sent  by  the 
Lord  of   Padua,    and   of    Lionardo    Morosini, 
who  sought  atonement  for  his  crimes  in  full 
disclosure,  that  their  misdeeds  were  all  brought 
home  to  them  right  speedily.      Strange  tales 
has  Venice  to  learn,  of  stratagems  to  let  the 
Genoese  into  our  lagoon  ;   of  those  who  con- 
trived their  entrance  into  Chiozza,  which  cost  us 
so  much  to  regain ;    and  of  the  accomiilices  ot 
Roberto  da  Recanati.    Aye,  Messer  Luigi,  you 
are  amazed  ;  but  if  men  were  as  innocent  as 
you,  more  of  them  would  thrive  as  lustily." 

"  But  you  have  not  said — what  crime  re- 
mained for  them  to  charge  against  you  '?" 

"  That  I  had  conspired  with  Francesco  da 
Carrara,  and  taken  a  bribe  from  him  to  prevent 
the  reconquest  of  Chiozza." 

"  And  how  long  did  they  hold  you  with  suck 
fooleries  V 


138 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


"Until," sail]  Ranieri,  whose  strange  and  un- 
wonted countenance,  angry  and  sneering,  now 
drew  attention — "until  they  had  punished  him." 

"  Punished  him  !"  cried  many  voices. 

"  Aye,  punished." 

"Be  still,  Ranieri,"  said  Zeno,  smiling; 
"or  the  Ten  will  claim  another  prisoner." 

"  Tell  it  us,  Ranieri,"  cried  Sebastian,  little 
heeding  Zcno's  interruption. 

"I  was  not  there,  and  learned  it  only  from 
.Messer  Zeno  himself.  But  it  was  so — they 
punished  him." 

"  For  what — for  what  1  "Was  he  not  acquit- 
ted tlien,  as  by  the  senate  1" 

'.'Acquitted  and  punished  too.  They  acquit- 
ted him  of  treachery,  but  punished  him  for 
lending  aid  to  a  foreigner  who  has  since  be- 
come an  enemy  of  the  republic,  and  for  re- 
ceiving money  under  any  pretext,  even  his  own 
due,  fron)  one  at  war  with  Venice." 

"And  the  punishment  1" 

"A  fine  of  two  thousand  ducats.  They 
would  have  imprisoned  him  ;  but — " 

"  Hush,  hush  !  Ranieri,"  said  Zeno,  gravely. 
"  Remember  the  Ten.  But  where  is  our 
noble  host!  Are  we  too  late  \o  have  his 
welcome  1" 

"  No,"  answered  Sebastian  ; — "  we  still  at- 
tend him.  and  marvel  at  his  long  delay.  Your 
strange  tidings  have  made  us  forget  that  in  a 
greater  w^onder ;  and  both  again  in  marvel  at 
the  calm  and  contented  air  you  wear  with  this 
reward  for  all  you  have  done  and  given  to 
Venice." 

"It  was  done  and  given  to  Venice,  Sebas- 
tian :  if  wrong  has  now  been  done  me,  it  is  not 
by  Venice,  but  by  some  few  men  who  have 
mistaken,  not  abandoned,  their  duty.  There  is 
no  harm  done  ;  for,  blessed  be  our  Holy  Moth- 
er, our  fortune  can  spare  the  fine." 

"You  should  grow  fat,  Carlo  Zeno,"  ex- 
claimed il  Grasso,  "  if  content  make  men  so. 
But  what  was  done  with  the  traitors  1" 

"  Their  guerdon  is  harder  :  I\Iarin  Barbarigo 
and  Luigi  da  Molino  will  come  no  more  forth 
from  prison,  but  waste  their  days  in  close 
penance  ;  Pietro  di  Bernardo — I  think  some  of 
the  council  could  not  forget  his  pleasant  vvays 
— will  spend  op/2  year  in  prison,  and  then  will 
seek  his  happiness  abroad,  never  to  return  ; 
and  Lionardo  Morosini's  penitence  has  obtained 
him  the  like  favor.  Da  Carrara's  man,  Marco, 
iiore  hard  upon  Lionardo,  remembering  that  all 
but  fatal  thrust  of  the  sword  at  the  bridge  of 
Chiozza." 

"And  was  not  my  cousin,  Marco  Morosini, 
spoken  of  with  his  friends'!"  asked  Luigi. 

"By  none.  He  was  not  accused.  I  think 
men  believe  that  he  was  more  tricked  than 
tricking;  and  they  leave  him  to  his  own  pun- 
ishment— the  cloister — for  that  is  on  his  mind. 
It  had  nearly  been  mine  for  life." 

"  For  life  !"  cried  Pi,anieri.  "  How  so,  mas- 
ter mine  V 

"  Know  you  not,  Ranieri,  that  I  was  destined 
to  the  church,  and  might  by  now  have  been 
pope  ;  but  when  I  had  charge  of  PaCras,  while 
yet  a  boy,  I  defenaed  it  from  attack  ;  and  ever 
since  that  I  could  not  let  the  sword  out  of  my 
Isands!" 

"  Nor  the  book  neither,"  said  Luigi,  "since 
yoa  read  enough  for  a  clerk." 


"  Aye,  that  habit  stuck  to  me  too." 

'•  But,"  said  Alberti,  "  touching  the  Ten,  and 
Marco  Morosini " 

"  Nay,  your  pardon  !  let  us  talk  no  more  ol 
that,  lest  he  surprise  us,  and  feel  offence. 
His  is  too  hard  a  trouble  of  shame  and  ppril  to 
be  added  to  ;  and  if  I  mistake  not,  here  he 
comes,  by  the  sound  of  footsteps." 

It  was  not  Morosini ;  but  more  servants 
appeared,  to  light  the  guests  to  the  banquet- 
hall.  As  they  passed  from  the  saloon  through 
the  hall,  another  guest  joined  them,  and  mixed 
with  the  group,  so  as  to  draw  little  notice. 
More  than  one  marked  that  it  was  Francesco 
da  Carrara  ;  but,  grown  used  to  strange  events, 
they  watched  him  without  challenge.  They 
entered  the  banquet-hall. 

Morosini  was  there,  alone.  Many  years 
seemed  to  have  gathered  upon  his  head  in  that 
single  day.  Save  that  the  fiery  red  of  his  eyes 
reminded  them  of  his  weeping  in  the  senate- 
hall,  and  that  there  was  a  trembling  about  his 
mouth  and  nose  that  told  of  the  working  pas- 
sions which  had  agitated  him,  there  was  a 
greater  dignity  in  his  manner,  and  he  looked 
prouder  than  ever,  if  more  serene.  With  a 
pleasanter  courtesy  than  usual,  he  bade  them 
welcome.  He  took  Sebastian  by  the  hand,  and 
grasping  it  firmly,  bent  to  him  in  silence,  and 
sat  him  to  the  right  of  the  chair  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  with  Carlo  Zeno  on  the  left,  and  the 
others  in  posts  suitable  to  their  rank ;  then 
taking  the  head,  the  banquet  proceeded.  Little 
was  eaten  ;  and  although  he  pledged  all  round, 
little  was  drunk,  except  by  himself  '*  You  do 
not,"  he  cried,  "  Messer  Alberti,  answer  me 
freely.  You  spare  the  wine  as  if  it  were  bad, 
or  as  if  we  had  many  such  meetings."  But 
invitation  could  not  make  those  eat  or  drink 
who  were  lost  in  expectancy ;  some  merely 
wondering  what  he  would  do,  and  others  wait 
ing  to  hear  from  his  lips  the  fate  of  their  life. 

"  And  now,"  he  cried,  "  since  you  will  not 
join  me  in  this  high  revel,  most  noble  guests, 
I  will  ask  you  to  do  honor  to  one  who  must 
henceforward  honor  you  here.  I  will  not  re- 
count what  already  you  have  heard  recounted 
to-day — I  will  not  recall  those  painful  deeds 
which  I  need  not  tell  you  to  my  shame — how 
there  is  one  whom  I  was  bound  to  honor  and 
protect,  but  to  whom  I  have  done  some  wrong. 
If  in  that  son,  noble  Venetians,  there  was  some 
pride,  some  warring  against  fatherly  control, 
do  I  not  confess  that  that  pride  has  run  in  the 
blood  ;  and  that  even  higher  control  than  that 
of  a  father  has  been  warred  against  by  a  Moro- 
sini! You  have  seen  my  sins  laid  bare  before 
you  ;  and  it  does  not  befit  one  of  our  noble 
race,  when  thus  convicted,  to  shrink  from  the 
confession  of  his  wrong.  Therefore  have  I 
thought  it  well  not  only  to  confess,  but,  as  you 
saw  to-day,  to  avow  it  in  full ;  and  if  for  me 
all  earthly  glory  is  gone,  then  is  it  my  right 
and  my  duty  to  seek  a  more  sacred  glory.  And 
thus,  most  illustrious  nobles,  have  I  resolved, 
in  rendering  justice  to  my  noble  son,  to  seek  a 
higher  inheritance  than  any  which  I  hold  of 
the  republic.  Now%  and  from  henceforward,  I 
yield  up  to  Messer  Sebastiano  Morosini  all  that 
portion  which  I  hold  in  the  wealth,  and  pro- 
perty, and  power,  and  privileges  of  our  house, 
even  as  it  has  come  down  to  us  since  this  great 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


139 


republic  has  existed  ;  and  from  this  day,  Mes- 
ser  Sebastiano  Morosini  shall  take  the  place  of 
Marco.  For  be  it  known  to  you  that  it  is  my 
3 evolve  to  seek  in  holy  penance,  with  admis- 
sion to  one  of  our  sacred  orders,  that  forgive- 
ness which  I  have  not  deserved,  but  which  is 
obtained  through  the  goodness  of  our  Lord, 
and  the  intercession  of  our  saint,  Messer  San 
Marco.  Thus  do  I  retrieve,  by  a  holy  sacri- 
fice, the  shame  that  I  might  have  brought  upon 
our  house." 

The  guests  were  silent.  Many  had  suspected 
his  purpose  when  he  invited  them  at  the  sen- 
ate ;  many  rejoiced  more  than  they  cared  to 
tell  him ;  and  all  looked  for  what  farther  he 
had  to  say. 

He  went  on.  "  In  the  next  matter  I  cannot 
speak  with  so  much  boldness.  And  here  I 
have  to  crave  the  trust  of  Messer  Sebastiano 
Morosini,  and  of  Messer  Carlo  Zeno,  and  of  all 
who  take  concern  in  it.  You  were  told  this 
day  that  a  lady  had  been  brought  to  this  house — 
Madonna  Teresa  Arduino.  Most  illustrious 
nobles,  she  is  not  here."  ^ 

The  whole  company  started.  Sebastian 
drew  back  in  his  seat,  and  looked  upon  his 
father  with  surprise  and  a  new  suspicion.  Ra- 
nieri  and  some  others  started  up ;  and  there 
was  a  confused  murmur  of  questioning,  which 
was  stopped  by  the  voice  of  Carlo  Zeno.  "  Let 
us  hear  Messer  Morosini ;  we  can  ask  farther 
when  he  has  dono." 

"  She  is  not  here,  I  swear  by  the  blessed 
Virgin  and  the  most  holy  Saint  Mark  •  and  if 
the  sacrifices  I  have  made  this  day  are  not 
pledges  that  I  speak  the  truth,  then  may  my 
salvation  be  forever  destroyed.  Ifuncourte- 
ously  I  liave  detained  you  after  I  bade  you  to 
this  house,  it  was,  most  illustrious  nobles,  that 
I  felt  shame  to  meet  you,  and  sought  in  vain 
for  her  who  is  lost.  I  did  believe  her  to  be 
here ;  but  some  strange  cheat  has  been  put 
upon  me,  and  upon  you,  for  I  cannot  learn  that 
ever  she  has  been  brought  hither.  You  doubt 
me  ;  I  see  that  Messer  Sebastiano  Morosini 
doubts  me  too ;  but  here  in  this  place  I  give 
my  person  in  pledge  as  hostage  for  the  truth  of 
what  I  say.  And  after  I  shall  have  told  you 
all  that  is  known  to  me  on  that  head,  you  shall 
seek  the  whole  of  this  palace  through,  still 
holding  me  prisoner  until  the  lady  be  found. 
And  tbus  I  surrender  myself  prisoner  to  the 
keeping  of  Messer  Sebastiano  Morosini."  He 
then  told  them  all  that  Alessandro  had  said  to 
him  when  last  they  spoke,  and  how  that  had 
made  him  believe  Nadale's  accusation  to  be 
true  :  buthow,upon  scarchingthroughthehouse, 
he  could  nowhere  find  her,  nor  could  any  of  tiic 
servants  say  that  a  lady  had  been  brought  there. 

Without  speaking,  Sebastian  rose  from  the 
table  ;  otiiers  followed  him,  and  searched  the 
house  through.  They  questioned  the  servants, 
but  couldlearn  nothing  of  the  lady,  and  per- 
force (hey  were  constrained  to  believe  that 
Marco's  words  were  true. 

When  they  had  reassembled  in  the  saloon, 
Morosini  again  pressed  them  to  receive  him  as 
their  prisoner,  hostage  for  Teresa  ;  but  Se- 
bastian would  not  have  it,  nor  would  Zeno  al- 
/ovv  it. 

"  The  words  of  a  man  at  the  gate  of  tho 
cloister,"  said  Zeno,  "  must  not  be  doubted  ;  or 


where  would  our  doubts  stop  1  It  was  not 
alone  the  love  of  the  sword  tliat  stayed  me 
from  the  cloister,  but  that  I  could  not  thus  an- 
swer for  my  own  words,  seeing  thiit  so  sacred 
places  must  not  be  entered  by  falsehood.  We 
will  seek  for  the  lady  elsewhere.  That  ruffian 
who  has  beguiled  us  and  Messer  Morosini,  and 
he  is  in  safe  keeping,  shall  disclose  to  us  where 
she  is.  and  wherefore  he  has  put  this  cheat  upon 
us  at  the  last :  and  meanwhile  belter  were  it  thai 
we  should  be  deceived,  even  in  so  mortal  a  mat- 
ter, than  that  we  should  dishonor  our  nature  by 
mistrusting  Messer  Morosini." 

"  You  speak,"  said  Morosini,  "  as  behoves 
your  noble  nature  ;  and  now  with  your  leave  I 
have  one  more  duty  to  perform,  and  have  to 
crave  your  patience  for  a  short  time  longer." 
He  retired  and  kept  them  waiting  for  a  little 
while  ;  and  then  he  returned  with  Angiolina, 
leading  her  into  the  midst  of  the  saloon.  Se- 
bastian for  an  instant  forgot  his  own  care,  and 
looked  to  see  what  courage  his  friend  had  for 
the  unknown  trial  that  awaited  him.  Edward 
was  pale,  but  motionless.  In  the  cold  and 
steadfast  aspect  of  the  girl,  the  Englishman 
saw  no  glimpse  of  hope  for  himself;  and  he 
half  foresaw  what  was  to  follow.  He  would 
have  left  the  place  ;  but  chidmg  himself  for  that 
faint-heartedness,  he  resolved  to  stay  even  for 
the  smallest  chance. 

"  Be  it  known  to  you,  illustrious  nobles," 
said  Morosini,  "  for,  after  so  much  has  been 
laid  before  you,  all  may  be  known,  that  there 
is  present  amongst  us  an  accomplished  gentle- 
man, who  has  sought,  and,  I  will  say  it,  obtain- 
ed the  love  of  a  daughter  of  the  house  of 
Morosini.  I  did  no  more  than  any  other  in 
the  world  might  have  done,  in  forbidding  that 
a  daughter  of  our  house  should  be  led  away  by 
a  stranger,  of  whom  we  knew  little.  By  and 
in  me,  the  house  of  Morosini  has  fallen  ;  my 
|)ride  must  be  humbleness,  and  no  longer  do  I 
dare  to  say  that  that  most  excellent  English 
gentleman,  who  has  served  the  republic  so  well 
and  so  faithfully,  even  as  well  and  as  faithfully 
as  though  he  had  been  born  of  us,  is  in  any 
way  inferior  to  so  great  a  fortune  ;  therefore 
have  I  and  do  I  now  revoke  and  regard  as 
null  all  that  I  have  said  to  forbid  that  gentle- 
man from  his  pretensions.  Messer  Odoardo, 
for  all  that  I  have  said  that  may  have  given 
you  offence,  I  now  most  humi)ly  crave  ycur 
pardon,  and  shall  not  go  content  from  the  world 
without  I  bear  it  with  me.  Tell  me,  sir,  that  I 
have  it." 

Edward's  cheek  flushed,  and  he  felt  a  glow 
of  anger  pass  over  him  as  the  man  spoke. 
What  had  Morosini  done  that  should  change 
Aismind'?  He  knew  not ;  but  yet  there  was 
something  in  the  senator's  abject  humil- 
iation which  forbade  him  to  spurn  the  beggar, 
even  as  he  would  have  forborne  to  trample  on 
a  man  grovelling  at  his  feet.  He  said,  "If  you 
seek  it  so  earnestly,  Messer  Morosini,  my  par- 
don you  have." 

"  Sir,  I  thank  you.  And  now,  as  I  have 
said,  it  lies  with  the  lady  te  make  her  choice, 
whether  she  shall  prefer  the  world,  its  joys, 
and  all  that  it  and  you  can  offer  her,  and  leave 
as  others  have  dane.  her  father  in  his  age  and 
shame  ;  or  whether  she  will  make  choice  to 
share  with  hina  his  misery  and  penance,  and 


He 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


retire  frora  the  world  to  a  sacred  quiet.  It 
is  for  her  to  say."  He  drew  back  a  step  or 
two  from  her,  as  if  to  leave  her  free. 

Sebastian  started  forward.  "  Do  not  speak," 
he  said,  "  Angiolina ;  do  not  answer  now." 
And  then,  turning  to  his  father,  he  cried,  "  You 
carry  your  tyranny,  sir,  with  you,  even  into 
your  penance,  and  the  most  cruel  passions  into 
your  sacred  life  now  beginning.  You  have 
prepared  her  for  this,  and  she  is  too  gentle  to 
withstand  you.  Leave  her  free — let  some 
days  pass  over — let  her  breathe  a  fresher  air  ; 
and  then  she  shall  answer,  for  then  she  would 
have  a  will,  which  she  no  longer  has  now." 

"  Messer  Sebastiano  Morosini,"  answered  his 
father,  with  a  most  forced  calmness,  "you 
speak  somewhat  before  your  time,  as  though  I 
were  already  buried  in  the  cloister.  But  I  will 
not  gainsay  you,  for  already  you  are  to  me  the 
head  of  this  house.  Sir,  the  lady  shall  speak 
when  it  shall  please  her ;  even  now,  or  any 
day  hereafter,  she  shall  say  that  she  shall 
leave  me,  or  that  she  will  follow  me.  I  put  no 
force  upon  her.  Let  her  say  the  word,  and  I 
leave  this  hall  and  this  palace  alone,  saying 
nought  against  her.  I  put  no  force  upon  her. 
Her  will  is  as  free  now  as  the  wind  itself" 

"  It  is  not  so  ;  you  have  cast  a  spell  upon  her. 
I  see  it  in  her  bearing ;  for  who  would  know  in 
this  pale  and  trembling  and  silent  girl,  what  my 
sister  Angiolina  wasl  I  ask  of  you,  my  lord 
father,  to  say  what  she  was,  and  what  she  is 
now ;  and  who  has  done  it  but  you,  and  there- 
fore how  is  it  that  you  call  her  free  1" 

"  She  is  free  in  my  disgrace.  Whatever  has 
been,  is  no  longer ;  and  what  she  says  now  is 
her  own  will.  My  penance  will  not  brook  to 
wait  for  your  delays.  I  go  now ;  and  I  go 
alone,  or  with  a  companion.  Interrupt  me  no 
more." 

"  Marco,  Marco  !"  cried  Luigi  il  Grasso,  step- 
ping between  the  fother  and  daughter,  "  this 
must  not  be.  Your  rash  and  cold  austerity  will 
kill  our  sweet  Angiolina.  Leave  her  with  us, 
and  we  will  cherish  her  as  the  dearest  daughter 
of  our  house." 

"  Be  it,  I  say,  as  she  wills.  But  stand  you 
aside,  Luigi ;  you  have  no  office  here,  for  you 
know  not  what  it  is  to  be  a  father." 

"  Edward,"  said  Sebastian,  impatiently, 
speaking  to  his  friend,  in  English,  "  will  you  not 
say  a  word  to  herl" 

Edward  approached  the  still  silent  girl.  He 
took  her  hand,  and  looked  into  her  face  ;  but  it 
did  not  answer  him.  Pale  and  silent,  her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  ground.  Edward  would 
have  spoken,  but  his  heart  freezed  within  him. 
He  dropped  her  hand  ;  and  leaving  her  side,  he 
answered  in  his  own  tongue — "  She  has  not 
strength  for  it,  Sebastian.  1  cannot  put  that 
force  upon  her." 

A  brisk  step  across  the  floor  broke  the  mourn- 
ful quiet  of  the  room,  and  a  new  voice  called 
aloud  upon  Angiolina.  Her  face  met  the  sound 
with  a  look  of  not  unwilling  surprise  ;  but  then 
a  new  fear  seemed  to  possess  her  face,  and  it 
became  as  pale  as  before.  It  was  Francesco  da 
Carrara. 

A  quick  murmur  of  subdued  astonishment 
burst  from  all  around.  Both  Angiolina's  brother 
and  father  drew  nearer  to  her ;  and  resuming 
bis  fiercest  pride,  Morosini  asked,  "By  what 


right  is  Messer  Francesco  da  Carrara  in  thii 
my  palace  1  Small  friendship  has  there  been 
between  our  houses,  and  this  day  has  it  been 
destroyed  forever.  I  would  not  chase  away  a 
guest,  Messer  Francesco — " 

"  Cross  me  not  in  this,  Messer  Morosini," 
answered  the  young  Paduan.  "  Trust  to  me, 
or  to  your  daughter's  angel  purity,  that  nothing 
shall  be  done  to  offend  you.  But  I  would  not 
see  her  thus  leave  the  world,  nor  let  her  go, 
without  knowing  that  she  departs  at  her  own 
will  and  pleasure  ;  for  in  this  we  are  all  her 
servants." 

"  Messer  Francesco — " 

"  Say  no  more,  Messer  Morosini ;  I  will  speak 
with  your  daugliter  apart,  though  still  in  your 
presence,  or  you  shall  slay  me  here  as  I  stand." 

"  There  are  others  here,  Messer  Francesco," 
cried  Sebastian,  "  to  whom  you  must  answer 
for  this  strange  interruption  :  by  what  right  do 
you  enter  here,  or  speak  thus?" 

"Talk  not  of  rights  at  times  like  these,  Se- 
bastiano Morosini,  when  all  goodness  may  be 
lost  for  want  of  boldness.  Trust  me,  I  will  do 
you  no  wrong,  nor  yet  to  Messer  Odoardo." 

Edward  remembered  that  night  when  he  had 
first  seen  Francesco.  He  remembered  what 
the  youth  then  said  to  Angiolina,  and  what  An- 
giolina to  him.  He  remembered  too  how  he 
himself  had  already  served  his  foe,  sparing  him 
at  the  bridge  of  Chiozza ;  and  the  same  good 
faith  now  moved  him.  "  Let  him  have  his 
way,  Sebastian,"  he  cried  ;  "  I  will  be  his  host- 
age." 

"Twice  my  guardian  !"  exclaimed  Frances- 
co ;  "  and  yet  I  shall  strive  to  do  you  better 
service  even  than  you  have  rendered  me." 

None  hindering,  he  drew  Angiolina  to  the 
farthest  end  of  the  chamber.  She  suffered  him 
to  lead  her ;  she  leaned  upon  his  arm.  There 
was  in  the  gay  audacity  with  which  he  braved 
everything  and  everybody,  something  in  which 
her  too  yielding  nature  put  more  trust  than  in 
all  the  rest.  Perhaps  it  was  too  that  his  love, 
less  absorbing  than  Edward's,  stood  to  her  as 
a  gage  of  his  good  will  and  fidelity,  but  yet 
threatened  no  evil  from  its  impetuosity. 

"  How  is  this,  Angiolina  mia,"  he  said  in  an 
under  tone ;  "  will  you  make  no  end  to  what 
you  will  sacrifice  1  You  are  too  tender  to  be 
most  cruel ;  for  want  of  some  little  sterner 
stuff,  you  cast  away  your  friends,  one  by  one, 
until  none  is  left  you  ;  and  now  you  cast  away 
yourself." 

"  Not  so  :  rather  say,  Francesco,  that  I  pre- 
serve myself  Alas !  what  have  I  seen  but 
danger  and  misery  ;  and  why  should  I  not  seek 
safety  where  our  Holy  Mother  vouchsafes  it  V 

"  This  is  no  answer.  The  blood  rises  in  your 
cheek  to  contradict  you,  Angiolina.  It  is  no  cold 
and  aged  piety  that  tears  you  from  the  world  ; 
but  merely  the  grasping  will  of  that  man  who 
has  no  scruples  in  his  heart.  What  end  of 
goodness  or  piety  can  you  thus  gain  !  Tell  me 
this,  and  I  will  suffer  you  to  go." 

"  Do  you  call  it  no  end  of  goodness  or  piety, 
Francesco,  that  I  should  serve  heaven,  and  fit 
myself  better  for  that  blessed  state?" 

"  Still  you  do  not  answer  me.  And  bethink 
you,  Angiolina,  that  heaven  will  gain  little  even 
thus.  By  so  much  more  pious  that  you  be- 
come, withdrawing  from  the  world,  so  much 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


141 


more  careless  of  good  shall  I  become  in  that 
world  which  you  have  left.  For  while  you  are 
in  it,  there  is  to  me  a  sacred  presence  that 
keeps  hope  and  goodness  in  my  heart.  Let  me 
ue  left  tlius  quite  alone,  and  you  know  not  how 
wicked  I  shall  become  ;  so  that,  take  us  two 
together,  and  the  account  with  heaven  will 
stand  where  it  did.  I  was  content,  Angiolina, 
that  you  should  throw  away  my  fortunes ;  but 
this  is  more  than  I  can  bear — to  see  you  throw 
away  your  own.  Say  onlythe  word — the  word 
you  wish  in  your  heart — and  it  shall  be  stopped. 
•See  how  many  friends  you  have.  Count  them 
ihere — all  but  one.  Say  that  word,  and  all  will 
defend  you  and  keep  you  safe.  Or  shall  I  say 
it  for  youl  Or  let  us  fly  at  once,  and  1  will 
carry  you  away  from  the  strife,  and  keep  you 
saJeiy  till  you  choose  to  return." 

"  No,  Francesco  ;  whatever  I  wish,  there  is 
a  duty  u-  be  done.  You  forget,  but  I  cannot, 
ti.ut  there  is  one  who  has  been  left  by  all,  save 
myself;  and  I  dare  not  brave  the  mischance 
tliat  might  befall,  if  despair  w'ere  driven  into 
that  proud  soul.  No ;  all  that  you  have  said 
only  makes  me  believe  that  the  danger  lies  in 
tlie  world.  I  am  not  strong  enough  for  it.  I  do 
not  know  that  what  I  do  is  wiser  or  better  than 
what  you  would  have  me  do  ;  but  I  know  that 
it  is  all  that  I  can  do  ;  and  I  fear  that  were  I  to 
study  it  deeper,  I  might  go  astray.  You  must 
give  me  up  to  my  fate,  and  remember  that  I 
was  not  worth  a  better  one."  She  pressed  his 
liand,  and  would  have  moved  back  towards  her 
father ;  but  Francesco  held  her  for  a  moment. 
'■  Farewell,  then,  Angiohna,"  he  cried ;  "  and 
remember,  that  if  ever  you  need  a  servant  who 
will  do  your  wil[  without  asking  reasons,  you 
have  Francesco  da  Carrara."  He  kissed  her 
hand.  Her  own  trembled  in  his ;  and  laying 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  she  said — "  Of  all 
that  I  leave,  Francesco,  truly  I  believe  that 
none  have  ever  been  so  kind  to  me  as  you  have. 
Farewell,  my  dear  friend."  Whereat  she  kissed 
him  on  the  mouth,  and  moved  away.  There 
was  silence  in  the  room,  all  wondering  at  the 
strange  conference  they  had  seen,  and  at  its 
stranger  end.  Her  steps  trembled,  and  she 
faltered  as  though  she  scarcely  knew  where  she 
was  going.  "  Angiolina,"  cried  her  father. 
She  moved  towards  him — her  steps  quickened 
— she  ran  into  his  arms.  Folding  them  round 
her,  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  said  to  his 
son — "  There  is  a  love  the  child  may  feel  for  its 
parent,  Messer  Sebastiano,  which  the  head  of 
the  hou-se  of  Morosini  may  not  know.  This  is 
too  sacred  for  your  violence.  Let  us  depart. 
For  some  days  we  will  crave  an  abode  in  this 
our  ancient  palace  ;  when  once  our  home  is 
found,  it  shall  remain  yours.  Farewell."  None 
hindered  him  as  he  led  his  daughter  from  the 
-oom. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

From  the  Morosini  palace  Carlo  Zeno  hasten- 
ed home  with  his  friends,  bound  upon  extorting 
from  Nadale  a  better  knowledge  of  Teresa's 
place  of  concealment.  Eilward  was  pale,  and 
still  trembled  from  the  suffering  wiihin,  and 
Sebastian  wouhl  have  iiad  him  retire  to  rest ;  but  i 


he  answered,  he  could  not  rest  in  Venice  ;  and 
he  would  not  leave  the  quest  they  were  on  until 
Teresa  should  be  rescued.  Together  they 
sought  her  captor. 

The  ruffian  had  been  thrown  into  no  dungeon, 
his  sickness  being  a  sterner  gaoler  than  any 
that  could  have  been  put  over  him  ;  and  with  a 
humane  policy  Zeno  had  had  him  confined  in  a 
pleasant  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  his  palace, 
where  he  lay  in  bed,  with  servants  to  watch 
over  him.  Sebastian  would  have  released  his 
master  from  the  trouble  of  meddling  wiUi  the 
man,  but  Zeno  would  not  let  him.  His  author- 
ity, he  said,  might  make  the  rogue  more  rea- 
dily confess.  And  therefore,  taking  with  him 
only  Sebastian  and  his  two  companions,  he  en- 
tered Nadale's  chamber. 

The  sufferer  lay  in  a  softer  bed  with  finer 
sheets  tiian  he  had  ever  pressed  before.  But 
little  will  mortal  agony  feel  slight  luxuries  ;  and 
the  manner  in  which  his  arms  were  cast  ahi)ut, 
one  here  and  the  other  there,  as  he  lay  on  his 
back  with  his  face  turned  to  one  side,  showed 
how  he  writhed  under  the  burthen  that  opnres- 
sed  him.  He  was  dozing;  but  the  sound  of 
footsteps  as  they  approached  his  bed  awakened 
him.  He  started  at  his  four  visiters,  as  though 
they  were  spirits  that  he  saw  in  the  room. 

Some  time  all  remained  silent,  staring  at  the 
man  ;  and  then  Carlo  Zeno  began  : — "  How  is 
it  with  you  1  Has  the  physician  seen  you  and 
given  you  ease  V 

Nadale  was  silent  still  for  a  few  moments, 
almost  as  if  he  had  not  heard ;  and  then  his 
cheeks  suddenly  reddening  and  his  eyes  flashing 
with  heightened  fever,  he  cried  in  a  low  husky 
voice, — "  Why  do  you  ask  1  To  what  use  am 
I  to  be  put,  that  I  am  thus  cared  for?  I  tell 
you  that  I  am  past  using,  and  that  if  I  were  still 
a  good  tool,  those  are  gone  whom  it  was  my 
humor  to  serve.  Why  do  you  come  to  pester  a 
dying  manT' 

"  I  would  not  have  you  die,"  answered  Zeno  ; 
— "  your  life  might  be  useful  to  me,  and  should 
not  he  unhappy  to  yourself.  But  say  that  you 
are  dying, — I  would  have  you  leave  the  world 
as  easily  as  you  may,  carrying  with  you  what 
recommendation  you  may  for  the  Heavenly  mer- 
cy. And  how  can  that  be  my  friend,  if  you  de- 
part with  falsehood  on  your  lipsl" 

"  What  is  it  now  ]  What  mean  you  1  Never 
talk  in  riddles  to  a  dying  man,  for  none  must 
hurry  so  much.  Talk  plain,  or  my  answer  may 
be  cut  short  before  you  have  finished  your  fine 
speeches." 

"  Why  then  I  will  learn  wisdom  from  you,  and 
be  brief:  Teresa  Morosini  is  not  in  the  palace 
where  you  said  she  was." 

Nadale  laughed. 

"  Miserable  ribald  !  is  it  thus  you  mix  the  talk 
of  death,  and  falsehood,  and  laughter,  on  your 
mortal  pillow  1" 

"  Go :  leave  me  •  I  can  only  sleep.  I  have  no 
strength  for  aught  else." 

"  Not  so  ;  we  must  know  where  this  lady  is ; 
and  until  we  know  that,  no  forco  will  we  leave 
untried." 

Nadale  laughed  again  a  low  chuckle;  and 
turned  round  upon  his  bed  as  if  to  compose  him 
to  sleep.  The  secret  of  Teresa's  abode  was  to 
(lie  with  him  ! 

"  Tli;nk  iiol  voii  can  get  ofTthus,  fellow!"  cried 


143 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


Sebastian  ,  "  (b-  wf  liave you  in  our  power;  and 
in  trutii  will  we  make  you  declare  where  you 
have  hid  the  lady." 

The  sick  man  turned  his  head,  and  seeing 
Sebastian,  he  started  up  more  fiercely  than  be- 
fore ;  resting  on  one  hand  while  he  shook  the 
other  at  his  questioner  : — "  Ha  !  is  that  you  t  I 
expected  you  here — I  looked  for  you, — misbe- 
gotten animal  !  You  who  struck  me  down,  and 
now  come  begging  to  my  bed.  It  is  blow  for 
blow ;  and  now  say,  wretch,  who  strikes  hard- 
est. This  is  what  I  lived  for ;  and  you  get 
nothing  more  from  me.  This  is  why  I  do  not 
lie  down  on  my  back  and  die  at  once.  Stay 
there — you  may  stay;  it  gives  me  content  to 
see  you." 

Zeno  drew  his  younger  friend  back,  to  mode- 
rate his  rising  anger;  and  again  spoke  to  the 
man,  in  a  calm  but  stern  voice  : — "  My  friend,  I 
would  have  you,  for  your  own  sake,  go  out  of 
the  world  wiih  ease  of  body  and  of  mind ;  but 
truly  will  I  not  lose  even  for  that  what  is  more 
precious  to  us  all.  We  must  know  where  this 
lady  is  at  any  price  ;  and  if  you  will  not  say 
freely,  we  must  make  you  tell  us." 

"  Make  me  !  Why  look  you,  do  you  see  this 
face  ]  Do  you  see  how  it  is  twisted  1  I  say  to 
you  that  every  mouthful  of  food  I  eat  tells  me 
how  my  beard  is  tangled  with  this  ruin  here. 
Ask  him  who  made  it  so ;  and  now  know,  that 
since  it  was  done,  my  work  has  been  to  bring 
him  with  the  strong  arm  under  my  feet  to 
trainple  on.  I  have  him  there.  Now  say  what 
price  you  think  he  is  worth.  What  will  you  give 
me  for  his  ransom!" 

"  What  you  ask." 

"  Why  then,"  said  the  man,  throwing  himself 
back  on  his  pillow,  with  a  little  laugh — "you 
shall  not  have  him."  Then  rising  again  at  once, 
he  continued,  "  Would  you  have  tidings  of  the 
fair  lady,  Messer  Sebastianol"  Sebastian  was 
silent.  Ke  could  not  crave — he  could  not  re- 
fuse the  offer.  Composing  himself  on  liis  pil- 
low, the  man  went  on  in  a  slow,  steady  voice, 
watching  Sebastian's  face  as  he  spoke.  "  I  took 
her  away — you  know  what  for — for  Messer 
Alessandro,  I  guess,  to  make  a  bargain  of  with 
his  foster  brother.  She  ts  tall — she  was  strong 
— and  truly  it  cost  us  more  to  master  her  than 
it  did  the  miserable  old  fisher  who  would  have 
crossed  us.  One  day  she  would  not  eat ;  but 
then  I  told  her" — and  he  laughed — "that  Mes- 
ser Sebastiano  would  never  find  her  if  she  left 
the  world  in  that  way;  and  then  I'  found  that 
the  bread  and  wine  that  I  put  for  her  used  to 
•io.  You  have  been  busy  witli  me  this  day. 
Yesterday  I  was  watching  to  meet  with  our 
friend  Alessandro.  It  is  two  days — stop!"  he 
counted  on  his  fingers — "  it  is  three  days  :  yes, 
it  is  three  clear  days — four  days-  ago,  I  placed 
food  for  her;  well,  that  would  have  gone,  and 
it  is  three  clear  days " 

♦'  Cease  this  ribaldry,"  cried  Sebastian,  mov- 
ing towards  the  bed,  "  or  I  will  squeeze  the  truth 
from  your  throat."  Edward  and  Kanieri  held 
him  back 

Nadale  answered  with  another  laugh.  "I 
am  equal  with  you,  nobles,  and  can  throw  away 
money  as  well  as  you.  We  can  hid  against 
each  other  and  I  will  beat  you.  Go  :  you  are 
(Oldish.  What  is  the  rest  of  my  life  worth  that  f 
should  bargain  for  anything  tiiatynu  can  give? 


All  that  it  is  to  me  now  belongs  to  the  past, 
gone  by  ;  that  I  have  to  make  up  that  I  have 
made  up,  and  having  done  it  I  am  ready.  Go 
to  your  beds." 

"This  trick  shall  not  serve  you,"  said  Zeno. 
"  Ere  we  go  to  our  beds,  if  you  speak  not,  I  will 
have  you  moved  from  yours  to  one  less  easy  ; 
and  the  question  shall  be  wrung  out  of  ycur 
limbs  if  it  flow  not  from  your  tongue." 

"Do  it — do  it.  You  shall  wring  from  me 
groans  and  shrieks,  and  all  I  suffer  shall  serve  to 
tell  you  how  I  prize  what  I  now  hold,  and  how 
I  know  that  others  suffer  more.  I  am  ready  for 
you.  Let  us  come.  I  can  walk  yet,"  and  he 
made  a  move  as  if  to  rise  from  the  bed  ;  hut 
sunk  back  with  weakness.  Zeno  turned  away  : 
the  great  mind  that  had  faced  all  dangers,  and 
had  feared  to  brave  no  artifice  of  war,  was 
struck  with  dismay  in  theencounter  of  infamous 
despair  and  mortal  sickness.  Death  and  de- 
pravity ruled  in  that  dying  bed.  Sebastian's 
blood  boiled  in  his  veins,  but  he  kept  the  end  of 
his  tongue  between  his  teeth,  lest  he  should 
displease  his  leader;  and  thus  they  looked  si- 
lently on  fhe  sick  man,  while  he  closed  his  eyes 
as  if  he  were  forgetting  them. 

Ranieri  laid  his  hand  on  Zeno"s  arm,  and 
putting  a  finger  upon  his  lip,  to  signify  that  they 
should  suffer  the  man  to  sleep,  he  drew  them 
away  from  the  bed.  "  We  shall  not,"  he  said, 
whispering,  "  force  it  out  of  him  thus.  He  is 
the  master  of  us  on  this  field,  and  he  knows  it. 
But  trust  me  and  I  will  yet  humor  him.  Leave 
it  to  me.  Let  you  and  Sebastian  here,  who 
keep  his  flame  alive,  withdraw.  I  and  Odoardo 
will  stay  with  him  ;  and  soon  shall  we  learn 
how  we  shall  compass  his  de/eat." 

Zeno  looked  at  Sebastian.  "Ranieri  is  belter 
than  us  all,"  he  said  ;  "and  in  faith,  Sebastian, 
I  can  tell  you  that  he  did  more  to  take  Chiozza 
than  all  the  rest.  Let  us  leave  the  youth  this 
fortress  also  to  conquer,  as  he  will  have  it  so. 
Put  your  trust  in  San  Marco  and  Messer  Ran- 
ieri, and  your  fortune  shall  be  more  blessed  than 
if  I  took  ihe  adventure,  for  all  I  am  so  great  a 
man  in  Venice.     Let  us  take  his  counsel." 

In  silence  Sebastian  obeyed ;  and  as  they 
withdrew  fro  n  thf  chamber,  Zeno  said,  "  I  will 
not  sleep,  Sebastian,  to-night ;  but  I  will  watch 
apart,  ready  if  you  shall  summon  me  for  your 
peril.  The  thought  of  that  dear  lady  whom  I 
have  learnt  to  love  on  your  report  will  keep  me 
awake,  and  I  may  yet  help  you  more  humbly 
than  our  good  master,  Messer  Ranieri.  Y<ui 
rnav  better  watch  near  this  door,  but  meddle 
not  with  the  youth,  for  truly  I  think  ho  has 
more  cunning  than  any  three  of  us  could 
match." 

When  their  friends  had  gone,  Edward,  hn!f 
divining  Ranieri's  scheme,  sat  himself  down  in 
the  shade,  which  Ranieri  made  still  darker  by 
putting  out  two  of  the  lamps  that  were  burning. 
Then  he  sent  the  men  who  had  watched  before 
away  ;  seating  himself  near  the  head  of  the  bed. 
Long  time  it  seemed  to  those  that  watched  ; 
while  the  sick  man  often  turned  sharply  round, 
as  though  suddenly  stung  with  what  he  lay  upon. 
He  groaned  and  muttered  in  his  sleep,  and  then 
threw  his  arms  apart,  and  sighed  as  though  he 
were  weary  of  the  night.  He  raised  himself  up 
in  the  bed,  and  looked  around,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  a  jug  that  stood  near  him.     Rnni<>ii  knew 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


143 


his  wish,  aru]  starling  up  vvitli  uoislcss  alacrity, 
brought  the  water  lu  the  bed.  NacJaie  looked 
into  the  jug,  and  then  at  Ranieri,  with  a  malig- 
nant and  suspicious  glance.  "  None  but  a  fool," 
he  muttered,  "  would  poison  a  dead  man.  It 
would  be  wasting  the  drug."  He  took  a  draught, 
and  lying  down  again  closed  his  eyes.  Not  long 
after  he  rose  again ;  and  again  Ranieri  tended 
him.  "  The  water  has  got  warm,"  said  Na- 
dale  ;  "  maybe,  with  standing  near  this  fire  that 
is  in  me." 

"  You  shall  have  some  colder,"  answered  the 
youth ;  and  leavi  ng  the  room  he  brought  fresh  wa- 
ter. The  man  drank  again.  "  Aye,  that  is  cold 
now.  When  you  are  hot  you  learn  to  think  this 
coldness  sweeter  than  the  best  wine  ;  and  this 
is  no  summer  heat."  He  lay  down  :  the  draught 
seemed  to  have  composed  him,  for  he  moved 
about  less.  Some  real  sleep  seized  him.  Ed- 
ward approached  the  bed  to  see  how  matters 
went  on,  and  to  learn  Ranieri's  intent ;  but  the 
youth  still  motioned  him  to  be  silent,  and  to 
draw  back.  Resting  his  elbow  upon  the  bed, 
Ranieri  whispered  in  a  soft  voice,  just  above 
the  man's  ear,  "  Nadale,  would  you  escaped" 
Nadale  opened  his  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  the 
other.  Then,  with  his  little  laugh,  he  whispered 
one  distinct  "  No,"  and  closed  his  eyes  again. 
Ranieri  held  up  his  hand  lest  Edward  should 
move,  and  then  he  said  again,  "Nadale,  would 
you  escape  1"  The  sick  man  started  up.  "No," 
he  cried,  angrily;  "get  you  gone.  What  is  it  you 
pester  me  fori  Do  you  think  that  I  am  losing 
my  wits,  to  be  fooled  by  a  boy,  when  Carlo 
Zeno,  and  Sebasliano  Morosini,  so  strong  as  he 
is,  have  been  driven  with  defeat  from  my  bed? 
Hold  your  tongue,  boy,  and  give  me  the  water." 
Ranieri  reached  him  what  he  wanted,  as  ten- 
derly as  a  son  serving  a  father;  and  the  dying 
man  again  composed  himself  to  sleep.  "  Na- 
dale," repeated 'Ranieri,  "  would  you  escape  I" 
He  did  not  move.  He  lay  still  as  if  he  chose 
not  to  hear.  "Nadale,  would  you  escape ?' 
was  uttered  again,  and  yet  again.  The  man 
really  slept;  he  dreamed,  and  talked  in  his 
dream,  and  counted  the  ducats  that  Alessandro 
had  paid  him.  "  Two  for  killing  Rosa,  and  two 
for  taking  the  news  to  Alessandro.  No  more  of 
that  business, "criedhe, laughing;  "Messer  Ales- 
sandro has  gone  before  me."  He  rose  up  in  his 
bed  ;  his  face  was  now  redder ;  his  eyes  wan- 
dered, (lancing  so  fast  from  side  to  side,  that  a 
fantastic  mirtii  seemed  to  light  up  his  haggard 
and  distorted  features.  Ranieri  again  held  up 
his  hand,  and  Edward  drew  closer  into  the 
shade.  With  a  pleasant  face,  Ranieri  busied 
himself  to  collect  the  man's  clothes.  He  hand- 
ed him  his  hose,  and  then  his  doublet:  the  sick 
man  ever  and  anon  talking  and  chuckling  ;  then 
throwing  the  things  aside  and  sitting  still  ;  while 
Ranieri  stood  l)y  and  folded  his  arms.  At  length 
Jie  work  of  dressing,  never  so  strangely  carried 
on,  was  fairly  finished.  Nadale  stood  upon  his 
legs,  and  balanced  himself  They  held  him  up 
bravely,  and  turning  to  his  attendant,  he  laughed 
merrily  at  the  jest.  Ranieri  laughed  loo,  and 
placed  his  finger  on  his  lip,  to  make  Nadale  un- 
derstand that  ho  should  be  quiet, lest  liicy  should 
hear  him.  ''  Aye,  aye,"  answered  the  delirious 
ruffian;  "you  can  trick  me,  and  I  can  trick 
them  ;  so  that  the  trick  can  go  round.  Well, 
every  man   has  his  day.     Messer   Sebastiano 


Morosini  had  his ;  I  have  had  mme;  and  now 
your  turn  is  come,  as  young  as  you  are.  Do 
you  remember  when  we  fought  for  a  knife,  and 
how  that  maiden  hugged  youl  Well,  I  have 
her  fast.  And  what  if  you  are  tricking  me  out 
of  her,  Messer  Giovinotlo  1"  He  walked  feebly 
towards  the  door. 

Ranieri's  heart  beat  so  that  it  might  he  heard 
in  the  stillness,  as  he  supported  the  staggering 
man. 

Nadale  stopped :  he  stood  firm  and  strong 
upon  his  legs :  he  looked  his  companion  full  in 
the  face ;  then,  suddenly  and  spitefully,  he  bit 
his  thumb  at  him,  and  breaking  out  into  a  loud 
laugh,  scrambled  back  to  his  bed,  and  threw 
himself  upon  it. 

Again  Ranieri  motioned  to  Edward  to  keep 
quiet ;  and  drawing  close  to  him,  he  sent  him 
from  the  room  to  bid  Sebastian  that  he  should 
not  hinder  them  if  he  came  forth  ;  '•  for,"  he 
said,  "  I  have  not  lost  yet." 

Alone  once  more  he  tended  upon  Nadale, 
with  such  quickness  and  such  silence  that  the 
wayward  sufferer's  wishes  seemed  to  fulfil  them- 
selves. Never  had  his  pillow  been  so  smoothed, 
— never  did  the  burning  sheet  lie  so  light  upon 
him, — never  did  his  hands  dispose  themselves 
so  easily;  and' ever  and  anon  Ranieri  whisper- 
ed, as  sleep  fell  upon  the  crazy  brain, — "  Would 
you  escape  V 

Once  more  Nadale  arose.  He  was  more  si- 
lent now,  and  he  leaned  often  on  his  new 
friend's  shoulder,  as  he  adjusted  his  clothes. 
"  See  you  here,"  said  Ranieri  with  a  whisper, 
drawing  forth  his  purse,  well  filled  by  Zeno's 
generous  bounty,  "  this  is  what  my  master  has 
left  me  ;  for  we  will  not  escape  empty  handed." 
Nadale  took  'the  purse  and  weighed  it  with  an 
absent  air  in  his  hand.  "  Is  it  gold  !"  he  ask- 
ed. "  Of  the  best,"  answered  Ranieri.  "  Twci 
ducats,"  muttered  Nadale,  "for  killing  a  woman, 
and  two  ducats  for  telling  her  lover  of  it.  That 
is  not  much.  Why  you,  stripling,  make  a  bel- 
ter trade  ;  and  yet  you  have  no  more  wit  truly 
than  to  pay  a  man  for  escaping  !"  Starling,  he 
added  with  a  fierce  cunning, — "And  for  what 
elseT'  He  threw  the  purse  upon  the  ground. 
Ranieri  picked  it  up  and  put  it  back  into  his 
hand.  The  man  took  it  mechanically ;  and 
when  Ranieri  moved  to  take  it  back  from  him 
again,  he  clutched  it  with  a  perverse  anger. 
"  Put  it  in  your  pocket,  good  man,  or  you  may 
chance  to  lose  it ;  fi)r  your  hands  totter.  Put 
I  will  have  half;  for  it  shall  not  be  all  yours." 
"Half! — half? — be  it  so.  We  can  talk  ahoi?! 
that  outside ;  for  you  are  master  here,  you 
know ;"  and  he  moved  towards  the  door  again. 
He  walked  steadier  now,  and  Ranieri  sought 
to  give  him  no  more  help  than  he  needed.  He 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  lock,  but  could  not  turn 
it  well.  "  Hush  !  hush  !"  cried  the  youth  ; 
"  w  hat  a  noise  you  make.  Leave  it  to  me,  who 
am  at  home  here."  The  door  stood  <>j)en,  and 
the  fresh  air  pouring  inlo  the  room  seemed  to 
revive  the  feeble  prisoner.  "Aye,  that  is  cool- 
er," he  cried  ;  "  but  I  must  have  another  drink 
of  water  before  we  go."  It  was  in  his  hands 
almost  as  soon  as  asked  for.  Ranieri  set  down 
the  jug  silently  by  the  door,  and  they  went  forth. 
They  crossed  the  wall.  Edward  had  already 
set  the  outer  door  open,  and  they  issued  fortli 
into  the  cold  nig.it.     They   walked   on.     Pre- 


144 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


sently  Nadalc  stopped,  and  said  fiercely  to  his 
companion, — "Weil,  now  I  have  escaped  ;  will 
that  suffice  you  1  I  anri  not  to  be  watched 
home.  Do  you  think,  stripling,  that  I  have  lost 
my  wits?     Stand  you  back  here." 

"Farewell  then,"  answered  Ranieri ;  "but 
Jiow  shall  I  get  half  of  the  goldV 

"  Why  you  shall  fetch  it  to-morrow." 

"  But  how,  if  I  know  not  where  you  liveV 

Nadale  lauglied,  and  ringing  Ranieri's  hand, 
cried, — "  Farewell ;"  and  he  tottered  onwards. 

Ranieri  watched  him  as  he  went ;  letting  him 
gain  as  far  an  advance  as  he  could  keep  him  in 
sight ;  and  then  he  walked  forward  too.  He 
had  not  gone  a  great  way  before  his  two  friends 
joined  him,  creeping  close  to  the  houses.  But 
the  wandering  dreamer  cast  little  regard  back- 
wards ;  and  as  he  went  his  pace  grew  faster  ; 
so  they  were  fain  to  draw  nearer  lest  they  should 
lose  sight  of  him.  And  so  he  staggered  on  ; 
now,  jostling  against  the  walls  of  some  narrow 
calle,  now  balancmg  upon  the  edge  of  a  canal. 
The  luck  that  waits  on  drunkards  and  madmen 
seemed  to  keep  his  footing  safe,  and  still  he 
staggered  onward. 

"  His  pace  holds  out  well,"  said  Edward. 

"  To  my  seeming,"  answered  Ranieri,  "  it 
grows  fainter.  He  could  scarcely  stand  when 
he  was  dressing,  and  I  fear  that  with  that  heat- 
ed running,  he  will  scarcely  last  out.  Look 
how  he  stumbles  !"  And  as  he  spoke  the  man 
did  stumble,  but  recovered  himself  He  stum- 
bled again  and  again,  and  then  he  vanished,  flat 
upon  the  ground.  With  quickened  pace  the 
friends  drew  near  him.  He  was  motionless. 
R,anieri  turned  him  upon  his  back,  and  placed 
[lis  hand  upon  his  heart.  One  moment  he  held 
it  there,  and  there  was  a  faint  beat. — "  There  is 
some  life  left,"  he  whispered,  "  if  we  could  but 
rouse  it.  Sebastian,  run  back,  and  fetch  me 
some  wine." 

"  Wine  !"  exclaimed  Edward,  "  it  will  kill 
the  man." 

"Aye,  it  will  kill  him,  but  the  fuel  will  make 
the  flame  flare  up  first ;  and  we  want  but  a  lit- 
tle more  of  his  life  to  serve  our  turn." 

Without  farther  question  Sebastian  flew  to 
do  his  bidding. 

"  Kneel  you  here  behind  him,"  said  Ranieri, 
"and  let  him  rest  against  you,  while  I  stand  to 
speak  to  him  if  he  rouse."  But  the  wretch's 
b^ad  dropped  back  as  if  in  death  upon  Edward's 
elioulder,  and  he  spoke  not  a  word  while  he 
v.-aite(}.  "  This  is  frightful,"  whispered  Ranieri, 
"  for  if  he  die  who  shall  say  where  this  hidden 
murderer  was  wont  to  lurk  ;  and  yet  in  his  den 
is  there  all  that  Venice  holds  most  precious  to 
some  of  us."  Edward  did  not  answer  ;  he  felt 
the  weight  heavier,  and  truly  feared  that  the 
man  was  dying. 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  dark, 
quick  and  quicker,  and  Sebastian  came  to  them. 

"Have  you  brought  a  cup  tool"  asked  Ra- 
nieri. 

"  It  is  here,"  answered  Sebastian. 

"Well  thought  of;  fill  it  full." 

He  held  it  to  the  sick  man's  lips,  and  instinct 
still  prevailing,  the  lips  sucked  up  the  draught. 
So  deftly  did  the  youth  tilt  the  cup  that  not  a 
drop  was  spilled.  The  glassy  eyes  unclosed,  the 
faint  gleams  of  a  clouded  moon  flastiing  coldly 
upon  them. 


"  Why  how  it  this  1"  said  Ranieri,  presently  ; 
"  you  need  something  stronger  than  water 
now."  Again  the  full  cup  was  held  to  the 
fevered  lips. 

"  That  is  hot  and  cold  too,"  said  Nadale. 

"  But  it  makes  you  stronger  ?  Can  you  stand 
nowl"  and  he  helped  the  man  to  rise,  motioning 
his  two  friends  to  draw  back  unseen. 

"I  miglit  have  slept  there,"  said  Nadale,  laugh- 
ing, "  if  you  had  let  me  lie." 

"  And  yet  you  v/ould  not  let  me  follow  you' 
Will  you  drink  some  more  of  this  strength,  and 
you  shall  pay  it  me  oack  when  we  get  home  !" 

The  man  drank  again  ;  and  Ranieri  could  tell, 
from  the  fierce  tottering  of  his  hands,  how  the 
fever  had  grown  upon  him.  After  he  had  gulped 
down  the  draught,  he  panted  and  coughed  for 
breath.  The  flame  had  indeed  begun  to  ftare  ; 
but  his  legs,  if  wilder  in  their  movement,  were 
stronger  now,  and  again  he  staggered  onward. 

He  stopped. — "  It  was  not  our  bargain,  gio- 
vinotto  mio,  that  you  should  go  home  with  me. 
You  know  each  man  has  his  home,  and  yours 
lies  behind  there." 

"And  so  it  does  ;  but  can  you  stand  alone  1" 

"Aye,  bravely." 

"Farewell,  then  ;  and  if  you  fall  I  will  be  by 
to  help  you." 

"  Why,  then  you  must  follow  me,",  said  Na- 
dale, with  a  bewildered  laugh. 

"  Why,  then  I  will  follow  you  if  you  need  it; 
but  now  I  shall  leave  you.''  And  he  drew  back, 
suffering  his  companion  to  stagger  onward  alone. 
And  so  he  went,  down  this  street  and  that  lane, 
till  they  found  they  were  reaching  a  poorer  quar- 
ter of  the  city.  Once  or  twice  the  pursuers  fear- 
ed that  footsteps  would  cross  the  drunken  man's 
path  ;  but  they  turned  aside  ;  and  still  he  went 
forward,  like  one  that  made  no  doubt  of  his  way. 
Onward,  onward,  more  and  more  closely  follow- 
ed, as  he  grew  more  regardless  and  headlong  in 
his  course,  until  his  pace  abated.  He  had  drawn 
nigh  to  his  lodging,  and  now  took  the  more 
leisurely  step  of  a  man  who  feels  he  has  arrived 
at  home.  He  stopped,  and  placing  his  hand  upon 
a  door  he  looked  back,  to  see  whether  he  was 
still  unwatched,  as  he  hoped.  It  was  too  late  ; 
the  wretch's  game  of  hiding  was  up;  and  run- 
ning forward,  closely  followed  by  his  friends, 
Ranieri  helped  the  tottering  hand  of  the  dying 
man  to  open  the  door.  Nadale  turned  fiercely  to 
them  as  they  pressed  upon  him, — "  Keep  back  !" 
he  cried,  seizing  Edward  with  desperate  violence. 
Short  was  the  struggle.  Clutching  the  miserable 
wretch  by  both  arms,  Edward  forced  them  to- 
gether,  and  .'^baking  the  spent  ruffian,  he  threw 
him  upon  his  back  into  the  open  house.  A  short 
hoarse  cry  hurst  from  Nadale  as  he  fell, — there 
was  a  stilled  sound  of  choking  in  the  dark,  and 
his  limbs  struggled — it  ceased.  The  silence  was 
as  intense  as  the  blackness  of  the  night  within 
the  house. 

"  We  have  no  light,"  whispered  Ranieri,  "  and 
how  shall  we  find  her  in  this  darkness  1  The 
place  seems  deserted." 

"  Hush  !"  cried  Edward. 
"  What  is  iti" 
"  I  thought  I  heard  a  voice." 
Sebastian  had  already   moved  towards  it  in 
t'he  dark  :  he  stopped  and  listened. 
It  cried,  "  Sehasliano  !" 
They   heard   him   dush   against  a  door — his 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


14i 


hands  wandered  madly  about  it — it  opened — it 
closed — lliey  knew  that  he  had  gone. 

By  the  dim  light  that  came  from  the  window 
Sebastian  saw  in  that  other  room,  in  a  corner,  a 
bed ;  and  on  it,  leaning  forward  on  one  hand, 
while  the  other  was  raised  in  the  act  of  listen- 
ing, reclined  a  woman.  Rushing  towards  it,  Se- 
bastian threw  himself  upon  his  knee  to  be  on  a 
level  with  the  bed,  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

"  I  lived  for  this,"  cried  Teresa,  as  she  sank, 
Aiinting,  upon  his  shoulder. 

To  procure  a  boat, — to  carry  her  to  the  pa- 
lace, where  Zeno  himself  received  them  in  the 
hall, — to  consign  her  to  the  care  of  Madonna 
Zeno, — all  was  the  work  of  but  little  time.  Her 
swoon  changed  to  a  deep  sleep ;  from  which 
awaking,  she  called  for  Sebastian,  and  from  his 
hand  she  took  her  first  food. 

That  night  Edward  left  Venice. 


CONCLUSION. 

Some  years  had  passed — Andrea  Contarini 
had  sunk  to  rest,  and  reposed  in  the  church  of 
San  Stefano  ;  and  Antonio  Venier  was  doge, — 
when,  on  a  bright  and  sunny  day,  our  friend 
William  Cooke  entered  the  palace  of  the  Moro- 
sini.  His  gay  attire — the  English  soldier  had 
chosen  scarlet  for  the  loose  silken  doublet  which 
reached  to  his  hips,  and  the  blue  cloak  which 
floated  behind  him  as  he  pressed  forward,  was 
slashed  in  every  part  to  show  its  white  lining, 
and  crusted  with  silver ;  the  blue  cap  on  his 
head  setting  forth  the  crisp  yellow  curls  that 
just  showed  beneath  it — attire  so  gay  denoted 
that  he  had  been  engaged  about  some  holiday 
work.  He  hastily  passed  the  hall,  and  through 
two  or  three  rooms,  until  he  found  two  ladies. 

Both  were  tall ;  but  the  dark  glowing  cheeks 
of  the  one  who  was  seated,  contrasted  strongly 
with  the  extreme  fairness  of  the  lady  bending 
over  her,  employed  in  teaching  her  the  art  of 
embroidery.  For  a  rich  vest  lay  in  the  lap  of 
the  seated  lady,  and  busied  her  fingers.  Rosa 
was  the  pupil.  She  was  clothed  in  a  dark  mur- 
rey colored  gown,  whose  loose  sleeves,  falling 
back  as  she  moved,  displayed  the  noble  outline 
of  her  arm.  A  line  of  white  parted  the  dark 
dress  from  the  deep,  but  more  brilliant  brown 
of  her  neck.  Her  countenance  was  grave  but 
contented,  and  she  seemed  absorbed  in  her 
work,  as  she  followed  the  guiding  fingers  of 
her  instructress,  Teresa.  Madonna  Morosini 
was  clad  like  her  companion,  only  that  siie  had 
chosen  a  hue  of  silver  gray.  So  bright  and 
clear  looked  one,  so  dark  the  other — both  so 
beautiful,  that  they  might  have  stood  for  a  pic- 
ture of  night  and  day.  Both  looked  up  as  the 
condottiero  entered,  and  received  him  like  one 
who  was  not  unexpected. 

"  Whence  do  you  come,  Messer  Guglielmo  1" 
asked  Teresa. 

"  I  come  from  Saint  Mark's,  where  the  new 
procuratore  has  been  conducted  to  pay  his  de- 
votions." 

"  Is  the  ceremony  over,  theni" 

"  It  is  all  done.  It  took  no  great  time  to  do  ; 
yet,  if  I  mistake  not,  never  were  there  greater 
numbers  pouring  into  the  grand  council  to  elect 
a  Procuratore  di  San  Marco  than  came  to  the 


election  of  Carlo  Zeno  ;  and  when  he  came  out 
all  Venice  seemed  in  the  piazza." 

"  Venice  was  forced  by  its  conscience  to  pay 
that  long  owed  debt ;  aad  now,  though  it  has 
done  its  best,  though  it  has  given  to  Carlo  Zeno 
high  honor  and  rank  almost  equal  to  the  doge, 
without  the  dangers  and  troubles  that  beset  the 
prince,  how  poor  is  that  payment  for  all  the 
wrongs,  the  hardships,  and  the  wounds  that 
Zeno  has  endured  in  the  service  of  the  republic, 
and  even  at  its  hands  !" 

"  I  could  think.  Madonna  Teresa,"  answerer' 
Cooke,  "  that  you  were  out  of  Venice  in  speak- 
ing thus  of  it ;  for  tongues,  I  ween,  are  begin- 
ning to  grow  less  bold.  The  nobles  are  so 
heaping  up  the  power  of  the  state,  that  they 
are  giving  away  their  own.  Zeno  is  content., 
for  all  the  bad  profit  that  he  has  made  of  the 
republic." 

"Aye,  he  keeps  no  count  on  his  own  side. 
How  did  he  look  V 

"  Pleased,  as  ever  he  does  when  he  meets 
his  countrymen  in  friendship;  and  in  his  new 
robes  he  looked  more  dignified  than  ever  ;  they 
seemed  to  suit  his  grayer  hair.  Though,  me- 
thinks,  he  never  showed  so  gloriously  as  in  the 
crimson  robe  and  cap  of  a  general,  at  the  head 
of  his  troops." 

"  Was  Sebastian  there  1" 
"  Aye  ;  and  though  I  say  it  to  you,  madonna, 
I  would  have  chosen  him  amongst  them  all  for 
the  most  splendid." 

"  Why  now  you  are  flattering  me,  Messer 
Guglielmo,  through  my  husband  ;  but  I  notice 
that  in  these  holiday  times  all  become  flatterers. 
It  seems  as  if  pleasure  made  an  over  abuiiJancc 
of  delight,  so  that  men  fall  to  throwing  it  away 
like  larges^s  among  their  fellows." 

"  No  ;  1  say  but  as  it  seemed  to  me.  Your 
father  was  with  us  too — that  is,  among  the 
grand  councillors,  as  befits  him  since  his  blood 
was  ennobled  for  its  deeds  and  sacrifices  in  the 
time  of  the  war  of  Chiozza.  You  could  tell  us, 
lady,  they  say,  of  one  sacrifice  then  made,  of 
certain  gold." 

"  Name  it  not,  Guglielmo  ;  the  memory  sick- 
ens me  with  the  taste  of  the  despair  that  then 
brought  death  into  our  house." 

"  The  despair  has  past.  Messer  Jacopo  was 
of  the  gayest,  and  younger  far  than  when  I 
knew  him  in  those  doubtful  days.  But  there 
were  others  there  whom  you  would  littje  ex- 
pect to  find.  When  the  procession  entered  the 
church,  there  were  in  it  Messer  Francesco  da 
Carrara  and  his  son,  who  have  been  guests 
with  Zeno.  Tiie  Lord  of  Padua  has  lost  his 
stoutness  of  late  years.  I  think  he  still  mis- 
doubts Venice,  and  that  towel-like  cap  upon  his 
head,  with  the  loose  vest  and  cloak  in  one, 
reaching  to  his  knees,  make  him  yet  more  like 
an  old  woman  than  any  even  of  the  senators." 
"  And  was  Francesco  altered  V 
'•The  son]  Why  yes,  he  has  gained  the 
portly  bearing  that  his  father  has  left.  He  bore 
liimself,  I  thought,  less  gayly  than  he  used  to 
do,  thougii  more  audaciously.  I  do  believe 
none  so  mourned  for  the  loss  of  the  Lady  An- 
giolina  as  he  did;  though  Edward  seemed  to 
take  it  more  to  heart  at  the  time.  It  might  yet 
have  been  better  for  Venice  if  one  of.ts  daugh- 
ters had  used  her  arts  to  tame  that  bold  and 
cunning  man.     Perchance   the    Lady  Taddea 


14S 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


d'Este  may  tame  him,  for  they  say  he  truly 
loves  her.  But  another  guest  was  there  who 
concerns  you  more  nearly." 

"You  do  not  maan  llanieril" 

"  No ;  we  could  not  see  him  anywhere,  and 
Sebastian  said  that  he  lost  sight  of  him  earlier 
in  the  day  at  the  palace  of  Da  Riva.  Are  there 
girls  hidden  there  I  It  was  not  Ranieri.  Long 
time  ago  Messer  Zeno  wrote  to  Edward " 

"  He  is  here  !" 

"  He  is.  Messer  Zeno  had  asked  him  to  be 
present  at  his  election ;  but  having  no  answer, 
lie  had  thought  the  letter  was  lost — as  well  it 
might  be  on  so  long  and  doubtful  a  journey.  But 
Edward  has  come  ;  he  arrived  in  the  midst  of 
the  ceremony,  and  not  to  interrupt  it  he  hid 
himself  among  the  crowd  in  a  corner  of  the 
churcli  until  all  was  over ;.  and  then  he  found 
out  Sebastian.  Never,  I  think,  did  men  hug 
so  close  as  they  did ;  and  then  Sebastian  led 
him  to  Zeno,  who  embraced  him,  and  in  turn 
led  him  to  the  doge  ;  and  Messer  lo  Doge  would 
have  had  him  for  his  guest,  but  he  would  not 
be  parted  from  Sebastian  ;  and  so  he  is  coming 
here  anon." 

Teresa  clasped  her  hands  with  delight ;  and 
Rosa  started  from  her  seat.  "And  how," 
cried  Teresa,  "  did  he  look  V 

"  Not  ill — neither  well  nor  ill.  You  might 
say  that  he  is  not  altered  in  anything — yet 
when  I  saw  him,  then  did  I  know  how  little 
lime  had  done  against  Sebastian.  1  cannot  tell 
in  what  Edward  is  altered,  but  he  looks  an 
older  and  even  a  graver  man  than  he  was  ;  but 
the  change  is  not  so  bad  in  him  as  in  old  Fran- 
cesco da  Carrara.  I  left  them  talking  with  the 
doge.  Sebastian  bade  me  come  to  tell  you,  that 
you  might  not  be  startled ;  and  he  bade  me  say 
that  Messer  Zeno  will  come  with  them ;  for 
there  is  new  surprise — Carlo  Zeno  has  been 
appointed  ambassador  to  England.  They  say 
that  he  was  appointed  many  days  ago,  yet  staid 
that  his  election  might  be  passed,  so  that  he 
might  carry  his  new  dignity  with  him  ;  and 
now  he  goes  without  delay." 

"Why  then,"  said  Teresa,  "we  should  be 
ready  to  receive  our  guests  as  is  most  fitting. 
Do  you  go  back  for  them,  Messer  Gughelmo, 
T  do  you  stay  their  coming  1" 

"  I  will  await  them  here." 

Teresa  left  the  saloon,  and  Rosa  would  have 
followed  her ;  but,  seizing  her  by  the  wrist, 
William  Cooke  detained  her.  She  looked 
round  at  him  in  surprise.  He  seemed  to  lose 
all  his  boldness  ;  and  the  hardy  soldier,  mut- 
tering some  unintelligible  words,  drew  back. 
Amazed  at  his  bearing,  Rosa  still  looked  at 
him  ;  and  recovering  courage,  William  Cooke 
again  took  her  hand.  "  Madonna  Rosa,"  he 
said,  "  will  you  pardon  what  I  say,  since  I  am 
a  rude  untaught  man,  and  moreover  have  but 
little  time  to  say  it  in  ;  as  indeed  I  think  I 
never  should  have  said  it  but  for  that — but 
that  I  must  say  it  in  so  short  a  time.  I  fear 
from  your  look,  that  you  do  not,  as  I  had  hoped, 
know  wliat  it  is  I  have  to  tell  you,  so  that  I 
must  fain  say  it  all  for  myself" 

Rosa  still  paused ;  she  did  now  guess  hfs 
meaning ;  but  yet  it  was  so  new  to  her,  and 
she  had  guessed  so  little  before,  that  she  re- 
mained silent,  not  knowing  what  to  answer. 

VVilliam   still  gazed   upon    her,   as  though 


gathering  courage  from  the  last  word ;  and 
then,  speaking  with  a  little  start,  as  if  he  made 
a  plunge,  he  said, — "  I  love  you !" 

Rosa  did  not  withdraw  her  hand — she  did 
not  start — she  looked  no  sterner,  but  gently 
pressing  his  hand,  she  said,  after  a  short  si- 
lence,—  "Messer  Guglielmo,  you  know  not 
what  you  say.  I  am  not  to  be  loved  thus.  .You 
see  me  in  the  palace  of  Morosini :  I  live,  I 
breathe,  I  speak  like  others :  but  mine  is  a  life 
not  like  others'  life.  I  was  spoiled  early — poi- 
soned by  falsehood  and  mistake,  and  would  have 
been  utterly  destroyed,  but  that  Teresa  saved 
me  even  from  myself  You  do  not  know  these 
things.  Learn  them  of  Sebastian.  Tell  him 
that  I  told  you  to  learn  them ;  and  you  will 
come  back  no  more." 

William  still  held  her  hand  in  silence,  gazing 
in  her  face  as  she  talked  of  what  they  had 
never  spoken  upon  before.  She  seemed  to  him 
in  that  new  light,  still  so  beautiful  and  so  ad- 
mirable, that  in  his  admiration  he  forgot  even 
what  he  would  have  said. 

"  I  have  offended  you,"  said  Rosa,  "  and  I 
would  not  do  that ;  but  it  is  my  ill  fortune  which 
has  made  me  before  injure  those  whom  1  least 
would  injure." 

"  Offended  !  No ;  but  I  was  thinking  how 
wrong  you  were  in  saying  that  I  knew  not 
these  things.  I  have  known  them  before  from 
Sebastian  ;  for  he  was  aware  before  I  dared 
to  tell  you,  how  much  it  behoved  me  to  hear 
all  that  concerns  you.  Do  not  say,  Rosa  mia, 
that  your  life  was  spoiled,  but  rather  that  it 
was  bettered  by  your  hard  trials  ;  and  rather 
think  it  presumption  that  so  rough  a  soldier, 
without  high  degree,  or  wealth,  and  almost 
without  country,  to  ask  the  hand  of  the  dear 
friend  of  Sebastian  and  Teresa." 

Rosa  now  withdrew  her  hand,  and  moved 
a  pace  or  two  away.  "  I  know  not  how  to  an- 
swer you,  Messer  Guglielmo,  since  I  would  do 
you  no  hurt ;  and  either  way,  it  seems,  I  must. 
It  is  most  true  that  my  life  was  spoiled  when 
young.  It  had  gone  wrong — not  for  my  fault, 
but  for  a  curse  that  was  put  upon  me.  It  had 
gone  wrong  even  in  this,  in  love  ;  and  if  Teresa 
saved  it.  it  was  only  to  be  done  by  snatching  it 
away  altogether  from  the  wrong  path  that  it 
had  taken.  In  that  path  I  left  love,  and  to  re- 
gain life  I  have  foregone  it  forever.  Such 
love,  I  mean,  save  any  but  that  which  I  bear  to 
her." 

"  Rosa,  it  is  not  so.  If  I  had  Sebastian's 
tongue  or  Teresa's,  I  would  soon  show  you 
otherwise  ;  but  you  silence  me,  because  I  can- 
not talk  ;  and  never  before  did  I  feel  how  poor 
is  the  art  of  him  who  can  only  wield  a  sword, 
when  now  I  must  yield  up  all  that  can  make 
life  most  precious  to  me  for  want  of  a  few 
words.  If  you  do  not  find  compassion  for  me 
in  your  heart,  there  is  no  hope  for  me,  and  that 
now  I  crave  of  you  most  humbly." 

"  Speak  not  so,  Messer  Guglielmo  ;  it  suits 
not  any  to  be  humble  to  me." 

William  would  have  retaken  her  hand;  but 
at  that  instant  Teresa  returned.  She  returned 
still  as  gay  and  joyful  with  the  expected  arri- 
val as  when  she  left  them  ;  but  stopping,  she 
glanced  m  dismay  from  one  to  the  other  as 
tney  walked  somewhat  apart,  and  showec' 
in    their  faces   the  pain   they   felt.      "  Why 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


147 


what  has  befallen  V  she  cried.  "  Rosa  !  — 
Gugiielmo  ! — What  miserable  tidings  have  you 
brought,  Gugiielmo,  that  has  made  you  both 
thusi" 

"  I  brought  no  tidings.  Madonna  Teresa,  that 
were  miserable,  until  they  became  so  after  they 
were  told.  Ask  Rosa  what  they  were ;  or, — 
for  I  know  not  why  I  should  conceal  it, — I  will 
tell  you  now  that  I  have  offered  to  her  the  hon- 
est heart  of  a  soldier,  and  she  has  thrown  it 
back  to  me.  That  is  what  I  grieve  for,  and  she 
grieves  perchance  in  pity  ;  and  so  I  bear  away 
with  me  not  so  gay  a  face  as  I  brought  with 
me  ;  that  is  all." 

He  would  have  departed  ;  but  Teresa  stayed 
him,  and  making  him  repeat  all  that  had  passed, 
she  said,  when  he  had  done,  "No,  Gugiielmo, 
you  are  right,  it  must  not  be  so.  We  must  not 
lose  so  true  a  friend  as  you  have  been ;  and  if 
there  is  but  one  way  to  bind  you  to  us,  why 
truly  I  think  I  must  use  it."  Taking  his  hand 
she  put  it  in  Rosa's. 

It  was  not  refused  now.  Gugiielmo  kissed 
the  hand  he  held  with  a  grace  more  like  what 
Teresa  had  seen  in  Sebastian,  than  in  her  secret 
heart  she  could  have  expected  ;  but  love  makes 
men  equal  in  many  things. 

"  And  do  you  think,  Rosa  mia,"  said  William, 
with  still  doubting  delight,  "  that  you  can  ex- 
change for  this  the  cold  rough  climate  of  our 
distant  island  1" 

"Of  England!"  cried  Rosa  in  dismay. 

"  Of  my  own  country." 

Snatching  away  her  hand,  Rosa  cried, — "No, 
not  that ;  ask  me  not  to  leave  Venice."  And 
ahe  Ihrew  her  arms  round  Teresa,  still  looking 
towards  her  suitor  in  affright,  and  clinging  to 
her  friend  like  a  shipwrecked  mariner  who 
grasps  some  tree  growing  at  the  water's  edge, 
and  turns  in  terror  to  the  stiil  threatening  waves. 

Bending  towards  her,  Teresa  kissed  her  on 
the  forehead  and  said, — "No  Messer  Gugiielmo, 
you  must  not  ask  this  ;  for  I  doubt  whether 
either  of  us  could  bear  so  much.  You  would' 
but  carry  away  a  dead  wife,  and  kill  Sebastian's. 
Rosa  and  I  have  suffered  together  as  few  wo- 
men ever  suffered.  We  clung  to  each  other 
while  we  were  wounded,  and  our  wounded  flesh 
has  grown  into  one,  and  may  not  be  parted.  If 
you  wed  Rosa,  you  must  wed  also  her  country 
and  her  friends  ;  nor  need  you  suffer  wrong  in 
that,  for  where  Rosa  is  there  you  can  be." 

"  You  put  upon  me  by  force,"  answered  Wil- 
liam, "  what  I  dared  not  have  thought  of.  But 
Messer  Zeno  has  bidden  me  to  his  service,  and 
I  may  not  leave  it.  He  needs  an  Englishman 
for  his  guide  and  interpreter  in  his  embassy, 
and  having  chosen  me,  I. must  not  forswear  so 
honorable  a  service." 

"Nor  shall  you;  Rosa  shall  be  hostage  for 
your  return." 

"You  bind  me  to  a  condition  which  is  to  me 
new  life  and  haiipiness,  and  I  can  only  answer 
by  giving  myself  up  to  you,  Madonna  Teresa, 
for  a  slave." 

"  You  shall  be  as  you  are  Sebastian's  friend." 

"  Sebastian's  friend  at  your  bidding." 

Teresa  again  gave  him  the  hand  he  sought, 
and  it  was  not  drawn  back ;  but  still  Rosa's 
other  arm  clung  round  her  friend. 

They  heard  the  sound  of  approacning  voices, 
louder  and  louder  still,  and  Sebastian  entered 


the  room  with  Ranieri  and  Edward.  The  Eng- 
lishman would  have  kissed  Teresa's  hand  ;  but 
embracmg  him,  she  kissed  him  on  the  mouth, 
and  welcomed  him  back  to  Venice  ;  knowing 
he  was  Sebastian's  dearest  friend,  and  remem- 
bering how  on  that  night  when  his  heart  was 
quivering  with  the  grief  that  killed  his  joys  for 
ever,  he  had  remained  in  Venice  to  aid  Sebas- 
tian in  seeking  for  her.  After  their  first  greet- 
ing, many  words  of  old  remembrance  and  in- 
quiry passed  between  them.  Tiiree  young 
children  were  sent  for  that  he  migtit  see  them 
—a  boy,  already  like  Sebastian  in  beauty,  height, 
and  noble  bearing;  a  little  girl,  too  round  and 
fair  to  tell  what  she  was  like;  and  a  younger 
infant  lost  in  its  own  clothes.  These  dismissed, 
stiU  talk  went  on,  until  more  new  comers  were 
heard  without.  Edward's  voice  sunk  to  a 
whisper — the  first  question  that  had  entered 
his  mind  was  the  last  to  be  asked — "  Angioli- 
na?" 

"  Angiolina  loved,"  answered  Sebastian,  "  in 
spite  of  the  cloister,  even  to  the  last, — two 
years  alter  you  had  left  us." 

Zeno  with  a  troop  of  companions  entered  the 
saloon,  which  now  filled  with  guests  pouring  in 
from  the  pageant.  Awakening  from  their  sad 
remembrances,  Sebastian  and  Teresa  received 
their  friends  and  the  guests  with  fitting  cour- 
tesy, holding  them  in  talk,  while  the  banquet 
was  prepared. 

Edward  drew  aside  unobserved  ;  and  chance 
leading  his  steps  from  the  bustle  of  welcome 
and  congratulation,  he  walked  into  a  smaller 
room  that  opened  from  the  saloon.  He  gazed 
out  of  the  window,  scarcely  conscious  that 
others  in  idle  wandering,  had  entered  the  same 
cabinet,  until  Ranieri  touched  his  shoulder. 
He  had  sunk  in  a  dismal  and  bitter  dream ; 
tears,  few  and  hot,  starting  from  his  scorched 
eyes,  at  the  memory  of  hope  so  cruelly  gone 
for  ever. 

Looking  round,  he  turned  pale,  and  grasping 
Ranieri's  arm  he  said  : — "  What  strange  and 
blighting  sight  is  this  that  enters  to  usl  I 
should  know  that  man,  but  little  thought  to  see 
him  here." 

"The  Father  Eremitano!"  asked  Ranieri. 
"  Yes,  you  know  him.  It  was  Marco  Morosini. 
He  went  into  the  convent  of  San  Nicolo  da 
Lido.     He  is  often  here." 

The  man  was  all  but  unchanged.  His  head 
was  bald  of  its  hair  at  the  top,  and  what  re- 
mained around  it  was  grayer,  but  he  was  not 
more  gaunt  than  he  had  been.  If  his  neck 
bent  now  and  then  in  humility,  his  head  was 
raised  again  as  proudly  as  before.  His  eyes 
shone  with  as  glassy  a  stare  and  his  form  was 
as  erect.  His  friar's  gown  was  scarcely  more 
sober  than  the  clothes  he  used  to  wear,  and  he 
trod  the  halls  that  once  were  his  with  as  much 
of  a  master's  step.  Stricken  down  where  he 
stood  upon  earth,  he  had  mounted  the  floor  of 
heaven  to  be  upon  a  vantage  ground  over  friend 
and  foe  ;  and  thus  he  had  regained  the  house  he 
yielded  to  his  son,  and  held  that,  and  all  other 
earthly  possessions  besides,  by  a  heavenly  right 
to  his  use.  His  eye  glancing  around  rested 
upon  Edward.  He  knew  the  Englishman  at 
once  and  marked  his  sadder  mien.  One  tri- 
umph at  least  he  had  accomplished  on  earth  ; 
and  the  sad  face  of  Edward  was  a  pledge  of  it 


148 


THE  FOSTER  BROTHER. 


Walking  across  the  cabinet,  so  that  all  who 
stood  talking  in  little  knots  turned  to  see  what 
led  him  by  so  sudden  and  straight  a  path,  he 
approaciicd  the  Englishman  and  took  him  by 
the  hand. 

Edward  snatched  back  his  hand,  and  recoil- 
ing, stood  speechless  in  amaze  and  anger  at 
being  thus  hunted  out  l)y  the  dullard's  obstinate 
mahce. 

Dreading  some  mischief,  Ranieri  hastily  left 
tliem  to  seek  the  interposition  of  Sebastian  or 
Zeno ;  while  those  around,  knowing  the  Eng- 
lisman's  story,  gathered  round  to  see  what 
would  follow  in  that  strange  encounter  ;  none 
more  eagerly  curious  than  the  still  fiery  Mali- 
piero, — wMio  hated  still  Marco  Morosini,  the 
senator,  but  cowered  before  the  monk. 

Father  Eremitano  stood  unrebuked.  A  grave 
and  placid  smile  quenched  the  exulting  fire  that 
lurked  within  his  eyes  ;  a  holy  passion  seemed 
to  move  his  voice ;  and  he  said  aloud,  so  that 
all  might  iiear — "  It  is  long  since  we  met,  Ser 
Inglese, — changes  have  happened  by  the  will 
and  for  the  glory  of  the  Most  Holy  ;  since  all 
who  are  mortals  suffer.  But  doubt  not,"  he 
added,  raising  his  voice  yet  higher 

"  Stand  back,  sir  !"  cried  Edward  :  his  voice 
was  broken  and  choked  ;  his  lips  and  checks, 
dappled  with  red  and  white  as  the  blood-tide 
dashed  in  wild  anarchy  through  his  veins,  quiv- 
ered with  passion  ;  and  he  tossed  his  hands 
before  him,  as  he  would  thrust  back  the  unwel- 
come visitation. — "  Leave  me — let  me  pass 
away  from  you  in  silence.  You  cannot  by 
miracle  will  back  the  mortal  years,  or  undo  the 
curse  you  have  been.  Heaven  grows  hell  in 
your  presence."  • 

"  Doubt  not,"  continued  Eremitano,  his  loud 
voice  flowing  on  again,  unchecked  ;  "  Doubt 
not  that  I  forgive  you,  as  I  hope  we  are  all  for- 
given." He  looked  around  to  see  whether  any 
would  gainsay  his  holy  office ;  and  he  raised 
his  hand  with  two  fingers  stretched  forth  in  the 
act  to  bless. 

Edward  maddened  under  the  hideous  spell. 
"Stand  away,  infamous  being!  You  come 
from  the  tomb,  exulting  in  death  ;  and  beware 
lest  I  hurl  you  back." 

A  loud  murmur  arose  among  the  guests  that 
crowded  round,  shocked  at  the  impious  bearing 
of  the  alien  towards  the  holy  man  ;  and  in  his 
reckless  and  irreverent  passion  they  forgot  the 
wrongs  shadowed  in  the  distance  of  the  past. 

Brought  by  Ranieri's  solicitude  and  the  sound 
of  loud  anger,  Zeno  and  Sebastian,  with  Teresa, 
Rosa,  and  many  more,  came  into  the  crowded 
room,  and  slowly  forced  their  anxious  way  to- 
wards the  Englishman,  bent  on  recalling  Ijim 
fiom  his  delirium. 

With  uplifted  hand,  the  friar  still  pressed 
forward. 

Edward  leaned  back,  shrinking  from  the  loath- 
some spirit  that  hovered  over  him. 

"  Bless  thee,  my  son  !" 

A  blow,  loud  and  heavy,  was  hurled  full  on  the 
gowned  breast ;  and  the  tall  friar  staggered  back. 

Swords  flashed  in  the  air,  and  one  darted 
like  lightning  into  the  rash  man's  breast;  the 
point  gleaming  out  between  his  shoulders  for 
the  instant  before  it  drew  back. 


A  loud  mingling  cry  and  shriek  from  behind 
burst  away  through  the  bewildered  crowd  for 
the  friends  that  came  too  late  ;  and  Edward  was 
seized  as  he  fell  in  the  cradling  arms  of  Rosa  ; 
while  Teresa  knelt  beside  him,  Sebastian  lean- 
ed over. 

Zeno  turned  to  the  friar.  "  Leave  us,  Marco 
Morosini :  your  holy  garb  cannot  hide  you  from 
cruel  memories,  and  its  sanctity  is  endangered 
here." 

Eremitano  was  once  more  erect  and  calm,  as 
he  ever  studied  to  be.  "  Beware,  Carlo  Zeno, 
— beware,  Sebastiano  Morosini !  I  forgive  and 
bless ;  but  a  sacred  rigor  moves  the  Holy 
Office  ;  and  those  who  harbor  impious  traitors 
to  our  church  tempt  a  terrible  fate." 

"  Go,  sir.  We  who  are  unstained  with  in- 
tent of  wrong  dread  not  the  Holy  Inquisition  ; 
but  here  is  agonized  grief,  and  what  is  greater 
than  us  all,  death.  Let  peace  be  in  this  place 
of  misery." 

Eremitano's  face  flushed  :  he  moved  for- 
ward, as  if  for  contest ;  but  stopping,  he  raised 
his  eyes  and  hands  mechanically  to  heaven, 
and  in  a  loud  voice  cried,  "  Peace  and  forgive- 
ness be  upon  us  all,  even  upon  the  proud  and 
the  humble — upon  them  that  strike  and  them 
that  are  stricken."  And  so  saying,  he  left  the 
place. 

Teresa  had  pressed  a  veil  which  she  held  to 
staunch  the  blood  that  welled  forth  in  a  bub- 
bling stream.  Seeing  the  wounded  man  turn 
fainter,  she  passed  her  other  arm  round  him, 
and  cried,  "  Alas  !  alas  !  dear  friend  of  my  lord 
and  love,  what  can  we  do  to  ease  you  1" 

"  Nothing,  sweet  lady,  but  what  has  been 
done  and  what  you  are  doing."  His  voice  was 
weak  and  broken. 

"  Go  fetch  physicians,"  cried  Zeno.  William 
Cook  and  Ranieri  both  rushed  out.  "  And  leave 
us,  sirs,"  added  Zeno  to  the  guests,  "  alone 
with  our  friend." 

"  And  seek  the  father  Onorio,"  said  Sebas- 
tian  ;  "  his  benign  tenderness  will  sooth  where 
we  cannot  heal.  Whose  hand  was  it,  Edward, 
that  struck  this  fatal  blow  1" 

"What  matters  1  It  was  Morosini's — or 
mine  own  ; — and  it  has  done  for  the  best." 

"  Ah  !  why  is  our  house  doomed  to  be  thus 
fatal  to  you,  my  friend  1     Can  you  forgive  us  V 

"  Forgive  ypu  1  Say,  Sebastian,  that  I  am 
forgiven  for  this  unseemly  brawl— but  I  was 
mad.  Thank  you.  Who  was  with  your  sister, 
when  she  lay  thus,  Sebastian  1" 

"Teresa  and  Rosa." 

Throwing  his  eyes  upward,  Edward  glanced 
in  Rosa's  downcast  face ;  so  moveless  had  she 
been,  that  he  forgot  his  pillow  lived  ;  her  tear- 
less eyes  watched  him  without  a  motion,  the 
brow  fixed  in  a  regard  of  steadfast  ministering 
pity.  He  saw  how  she  had  watched  the  de- 
parture of  her  who  had  gone  before.  He  looked 
at  Teresa.  She  bent  against  him,  thus  hiding 
her  eyes,  drowned  with  tears.  "  Your  hand, 
Teresa."  She  gave  it  into  his,  and  looked  into 
his  face.  So  had  she  suffered  once  before — so 
had  she  companioned  her  sister  to  the  portal 
of  death. 

Sebastian  stooped  over  his  friend — "  Zeno  I 
he  is  dead." 


THE    END. 


HARPER'S   LIBRARY  OF 
SELECT  NOVELS. 


(^~  Mailing  XoHce. IIaepee  &  Bkotuees  will  send  their  Eooks  hy  Mail,  posicuje  free,  to  any  part  of  the  United 

States,  on  receipt  of  tiie  Pace. 


PRICE 

relham.     By  Hulwer $U  p 

'1  he  DUowned.     By  BuUver 15 

Uevereiix.     liy  lUilwcr 5'J 

Paul  Clitt'ord.     By  Uiilwer 50 

Kugone  Aram.     By  Bulwer 50 

The  Last  iJays  of  Pompeii.     By  Bulwer 50 

The  (Jzaiina.     By  Mrs.  Uoflaud 50 

liienzi.     Bv  Bulwer IS 

Kelf-Uevotion.     By  Ml.is  Camijbell 50 

'Jhe  Nabob  at  Home 50 

Krnest  Maltravers.     By  Bulwer 50 

Alice ;  or,  I  he  Jlysteries.     By  Bulwer 50 

The  Last  of  the  Barons.     By  Bulwer 1  00 

rorest  Days.     By  James 50 

Adam  Brown,  tlie  .^lerchant.     By  H.  Smith  ...  50 

Pilgrims  of  tlie  Rhine.     By  Bulwer ii5 

The  Home.     By  Miss  Bremer 50 

'i'lie  Lost  Ship.'   By  Captain  Neale 75 

The  lalse  Heir.     By  .James 50 

'Ihe  Neighbors.     By  Miss  Bremer 50 

Nina.     By  Miss  Bremer 50 

The  President's  Daughters.     By  Miss  Bremer. .  25 

Tlie  Banker's  Wife.     By  Jlre.  Gore 50 

The  Birthright.     By  Mrs.  Gore 25 

New  .Sketches  of  Every-day  Life.  By  Miss  Bremer  50 

Arabella  :^luart.     liy  James 50 

The  Grumbler.     By  Miss  Lickering 50 

The  Unloved  One.     By  Mrs.  Holland 50 

Jack  of  the  Mi!!.     By  William  Hewitt 25 

'J'he  Heretic.     By  Lajetchnikoff 50 

The  Jew.     By  Swindler. 75 

Arthur.     By  t?ue 75 

Ghatsworth.     By  Ward 50 

The  Prairie  Lird.     By  C.  A.  Murray 1  00 

Amy  1 1 erbert.     By  Miss  i^ewell 50 

hose  d' Albret.     By  James 50 

'1  he  Triumphs  of  J  ime.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 75 

The  H I'amily.     By  Miss  I'remer 50 

The  Grandfather.     By  Miss  Pickering 50 

.\ rrah  Neil.     By  James 50 

The  Jilt 50 

Tales  from  the  Gerin"-! 50 

Arthur  Arundel.     By  H.  Smith 50 

Agincourt.     By  James 50 

The  Uegent's  Daughter 50 

The  M  aid  of  Honor 50 

^^afIa.     By  De  Beauvoir 50 

I  ook  to  the  Knd.     By  Mrs.  Ellis 50 

The  Improvisatore.     By  Andersen 50 

The  Gambler's  Wife.     By  Mrs.  Grey 50 

Veronica.     By  Zschokkc 50 

Zoe.     By  Miss  Jewsbury 50 

Wyoming 50 

Do  l;oh..n.     By  Sue 50 

Self     By  the  Author  of  "  Cecil" 75 

'I  he  Smuggler.     By  James 75 

The  Bn  ach  of  I'romise 50 

I'arsonage  of  Mora.     By  Miss  Bremer 25 

A  Chance  Medley.     By  T.  C.  Grattan 50 

The  Wliite  Slave 1  (10 

The  Bosom  Priend.     By  Mrs.  Grey 50 

Amaury.     By  Dumas 5f) 

The  Author's  Daughter.     By  Mary  Howitt  .. . .  25 

( Inly  a  Tiddler,  &c.     By  Andersen 50 

The  Whiteboy.     By  Mrs.  Hall 50 

The  Foster- Brother.     Edited  by  Leigh  Hunt. . .  50 

Love  and  Mesmerism.     By  11.  Smith 75 

Ascanio.     By  Dumas 75 

lady  of  Milan.     Edited  by  Mrs.  Thomson 75 

The  ('itizen  of  Prague 1  Ol) 

The  Boyal  Favorite.     By  Mrs.  Gore 5f) 

The  Queen  of  Denmark.     By  Mrs.  Gore T>(l 

TheKlves,<S:c.     By 'J'ieck 50 

75.   The  Stepmother.     By  James 1  25 

Jes.sje's  Flirtations 50 

Chevalier  d'llannental.     By  Dumas 50 

Peers  and  Parvenus.     By  Airs.  Gore 5t 

The  Commander  of  Malta.     By  Sue .'JO 

The  Female  Minister 50 

I'-milia  Wyndham.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 1!> 

The  Bu.sh- Hanger.     By  Charles  Bowcroft 5ii 

The  (Tironicles  of  Clovernook 25 

fJenevieve.     By  Lamartine 25 

Livonian  Tales 25 

Lettice  Arnold.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 25 


ST.  Father  Darcy.     By  Mrs.  JIarsh $o  75 

8S.   Leontine.     By  Mrs  Maberly fo 

SO.   Heidelberg.     By  James Un 

90.  Lucretia.     By  Bulwer 7.) 

91.  Beauchamp.     By  James 75 

92.  94.  1-  ortescue.     By  Knowles 1  (0 

93.  Daniel  Dennison,  &c.     By  Mrs.  Holland .50 

95.  Cinq-Mars.     By  De  Vigny 50 

96.  Woman's  Trials.     By  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall 75' 

97.  The  Castle  of  Ehrecstein.     By  Jamc.« 5'J 

tS.  Marriage.     By  Miss  S.  F'errier 50 

99.  Poland  v  ashel.     By  Lever 1  25 

100.  The  Martins  of  Cro' Martin.     By  Lever 1  25 

101.  Pussell.     By  James .50 

102.  A  Simple  Story.     By  Mrs.  Inchbald 50 

103.  Norman's  Bridge.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

lii4.  Alamance 50 

105.  -Margaret  Graham.     By  James 25 

106.  The  W.ayside  Cro.=3.     By  E.  IL  iMihiian 95 

107.  The  Convict.     By  James 50 

lOS.  Midsummer  Eve.     By  Mrs.  S.  C  Hall 50 

109.  Jane  Eyre.     By  Currer  Bell 7.5 

110.  The  Last  of  the  Fairies.     By  James 25 

111.  Sir  Theodore  Broughton.     By  James  , 50 

112.  Self-Control.     By  Mary  Brunton 75 

113,114.   Harold.     By  Bulwer 1  00 

115.  Brothers  and  Sisters.     By  Jliss  Bremer 50 

110.  Gowrie.     By  James 50 

117.  A  W  him  and  its  Consequences.     By  James...  50 
lis.  Three  Sisters  and  Three  Fortunes.     By  G.  H. 

Lewes 75 

119.  The  Discipline  of  Life 50 

120.  Thirty  Yeara  Since.     By  James 75 

121.  Mary  Barton.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 50 

122.  The  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond.    By '1  hackcray  25 

123.  The  Forgery.     By  James 50 

124.  The  Midnight  Sun.     By  Miss  Bremer 15 

P.5,  126.  The  Caxtons.     By  Bulwer 75 

127.  Mordaunt  Hall.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

128.  My  I  ncle  the  Curate 50 

129.  The  Woodman.     By  James 75 

130.  The  Green  Hand.     A  "  Short  "iarn" 75 

131.  Sidonia  the  Sorceress.     By  Meinhold 1  00 

13-2.   Shiriey.     By  Currer  Bell 1  00 

133.  The  Ogilvies.     By  Miss  iMulock 50 

104.  Constance  Lynd.'.ay.     By  G.  C.  H 50 

135.  Sir  Edward  Graham.     By  Miss  Sim  lair 1  00 

136.  Hands  not  Hearts.     By  Miss  Wilkinson 50 

187.  The  Wilniingtons.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

138.  Ned  Allen.     Py  D.  Hnnnay 50 

13;i.  Night  and  Morning.     By  Bulwer 75 

140.  The  Maid  of  Grloans 75 

141.  Antonina.     liy  Wilkle  Collins tO 

142.  Zanoni.     By  Bulwer 50 

143.  Peginald  Hastings.     By  Warburton 50 

144.  Pride  and  Irresolution 5!) 

145.  The  Old  Oak  C  best.     By  James 5;> 

I4t).  Julia  Howard.     By  Mra  Martin  Bell 50 

147.  Adelaide  Lindsay.     Idited  by  Mrs.  Marsh. .. .  50 

14S.  Petticoat  Government.     By  Mrs.  Trollopo . . . .  50 

149.  The  Luttrells.     By  F.  Wilfiams .50 

150.  Singleton  Fontenoy,  K.  N.     By  Hannay 5  » 

151.  Olive.     By  Miss  Mulo-ik ' 50 

153.  Henry  Smcr.ton.     By  James ,50 

1.53.  Time,  the  Avenger.     By  M  r.-'.  Mar.«h 50 

1.54.»The  Commissioner.     By  James 1  <-0 

155.  The  Wife's  Sister.     By  Mrs.  Hubbuik .50 

1.56.  The  Gold  Worsliipers 50 

157.  The  Daug'iter  of  Night.     By  Fullom .50 

1.5S.  Stuart  of  Dunleath.     By  Hon.  Caroline  Norton  50 

15;).  Arthur  (Jonway.     By  Captain  E   II.  .Aiihnan. .  50 

100.  The  1  ate.     By  .lames .5.') 

161.  The  Lady  and  the  Priest.     Py  Mrs.  Mabcrly..  50 

162.  Aims  and  Obstacles.     By  James 50 

103.  The  Tutor's  Ward 50 

164  Florence  Sackvillc.     By  Mrs.  P.urbury 75 

16.5.  navenscliffe.     By  .Mrs.  Marsh 60 

166.  N'aurice  Tiernay.     By  Lever ]  00 

167.  The  Head  of  the  F'amily.     By  .Miss  .Mulork. . .  75 

16-.  Darien      V.y  Warburton !>0 

160.   Falkenburg 7-5 

170.  'IheDaltons.     By  Lever 150 

171.  Ivar;  or.  The  Skjuts-Boy.     By  Miss  Carlen  . .  50 

172.  Pequinillo.     By  James 50 

173.  Anna  Hammer.    By  Temme 60 


Harper's  Library  of  Select  Novels. 


PRICE 

lU.  A  Life  of  Vicissitudes.     By  James $0  50 

1T5.  Henry  Esmond.     15y  Thackeray 75 

1T6,  17T.  -My  NoveL     By  Bulwer ._ 1  50 

ITS.  Katie  Stewart.     By  Mrs.  Uliphant .' 2.5 

179.  Castle  Avon.     By  Mrs.  Marsh DO 

180.  Agnes  sorel.     By  James 50 

181.  Agatha's  Husband.     By  Bliss  Mulock 50 

182.  Villette.     By  (Jurrer  Bell 75 

183.  Lover's  Stratagem.     By  Miss  C'arlen 50 

184.  Clouded  Happiness.     By  Countess  D'Orsay. ..  50 

1S5.  Charles  Auchester.     A  Memorial 75 

ISO.  Lady  Lee's  Widowhood 50 

1S7.  The  Dodd  Family  Abroad.     By  Lever 1  I'S 

183.  Sir  .lasper  Carew.     By  Lever 75 

189.  Quiet  Heart.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 25 

190.  Aubrey.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 75 

191.  Ticonderoga.     By  James 50 

193.  Hard  Times.     By  Dickens 50 

193.  The  Voung  Husband.     By  Mrs.  Grey 50 

194.  The  Mother's  Kecompense.    By  Grace  Aguilar.  75 

195.  Avillion,  and  other  Tales.     By  Miss  Mulock. . .  1  25 

196.  North  and  South.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 5iJ 

197.  Country  Neighborhood.     By  Miss  Dupuy 50 

193.  Constance  Herbert.     By  Miss  Jewsbury 50 

199.  The  Heiress  of  Haughton.     By  Mrs.  Marsh. . .  50 

200.  The  Old  Dominion.     By  James 50 

20L  John  Halifa.^     By  .Miss  Mulock 75 

202.  Evelyn  Marston.     By  Mrs.  .Marsh 50 

203.  Fortunes  of  Glencore.     By  Lever 5 J 

204.  Leonora  d'  Oreo.     By  James 50 

205.  Nothing  New.     By  Miss  Mulock 50 

206.  The  Hose  of  Ashurst.     By  Mrs.  Marsh 50 

207.  The  Athelings.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 75 

208.  Scenes  of  Clerical  Life.     By  George  Eliot 75 

209.  My  Lady  Ludlow.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 25 

210.  211.  Gerald  Fitzgerald.     By  Lever 50 

212.  A  Life  for  a  Life.     By  Miss  Mulock 60 

213.  Sword  and  Gown.     By  Geo.  Lawrence 25 

214.  Misrepresentation.     By  Anna  IL  Drury 1  00 

215.  The  Mill  on  the  Floss.     By  George  Eliot 75 

216.  One  of  Them.     By  Lever 75 

217.  A  Day's  Kide.     By  Lever 50 

218.  Notice  to  Quit.     By  Wills 50 

219.  A  Strange  Story.     By  Bulwer 1  00 

220.  The  Struggles  of  Brown,  Jones,  and  Robinson. 

By  Trollope 50 

221.  Abel  Drake's  Wife.     By  John  Saunders 75 

222.  Olive  Blake's  Good  Work.     By  Jeaffreson. . . .  75 

223.  The  Professor's  Lady 25 

224.  Mistress  and  Maid.     By  Jliss  Mulock 50 

225.  Aurora  I  loyd.     By  M.  E.  Braddon 75 

226.  Barrington.     By  Lever 75 

S27.  Sylvia  s  Lovers.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 75 

223.  A  First  Friendship 50 

229.  A  Dark  Night's  Work.     By  Mrs.  Gaskell 50 

230.  Mrs.  Lirriper's  Lodgings 25 

231.  St.Olaves 75 

232.  A  I'oint  of  Honor 50 

233.  Live  it  Down.     By  Jeaflfreson 1  00 

234  Martin  Pole.     By  Saunders 50 

235.  Mary  Lyndsay.     By  Lady  Emily  I'onsonby.. .  50 

236.  Eleanor's  Victory.     By  JL  E.  Braddon 75 

237.  Rachel  Kay.     By  Trollope 50 

238.  John  Marchmont' a  Legacy.    By  M.  E.  Braddon.  75 

239.  Annis  Warleigh's  Fortunes.     By  Holme  Lee. .  75 
241.  The  Wife's  Evidence.     By  Wills 50 

241.  Barbara's  Historv.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards. . .  75 

242.  Cousin  Phillis.     By  Mrs.  Ga.-kell 25 

243.  What  will  he  do  with  It  ?    By  Bulwer 1  50 

244.  The  Ladder  of  Life.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards. .  50 

245.  Denis  Duval.     By  Thackeray 50 

24(5.  Maurice  Dering.     By  Geo.  Lawrence 50 

247.  Margaret  Denzil's  History 75 

24>.  Quite  .\lone.     By  George  Augustus  Sala 75 

249.  Mattie :   a  stray 75 

2.50.  My  Brother's  Wife.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards. .    .50 

251.  Uncle  Silas.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 75 

2?2.  Lovel  the  Widower.     By  Thackeray 25 

253.  Jliss  Mackenzie.     By  Anthony  Trollope 50 

254.  (Jn  Guard.     By  Annie  Thomas 50 

25'>.  Theo  Leigh.     By  Annie  Thomas 50 

250.  Denis  Donne.     By  Annie  Thomas .50 

257.  Belial 50 

253.  Carry's  Confession.     By  the  Author  of  "  Mat- 
tie  :  a  Stray" 75 

2.''A  Miss  Carew.     By  Amelia  B.  I'dwards 50 

200.  Hand  and  Glove.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards 50 

2CI.  Guy  Deverell.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 50 

202.  Half  a  Million  of  Money.    By  Amelia  B.  Ed- 
wards    75 

263.  The  Belton  Estate.     By  Anthony  Trollope 50 

204.  Agne.s.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant '.  75 

205.  Walter  Goring     Bv  Annie  Thomas 75 

206.  Maxwell  Drewitt.     By  Mrs.  J.  1 1.  Riddell 75 

207.  The  Toilers  of  the  Sea.     By  Victor  Hugo 75 

263.  Miss  Marjoribanks.     Bv  Mrs  Oliphant 50 

26e.  The  True  History  of  a  Little  Ragamuffin 50 


270. 

271. 
272. 
273. 
274. 
2T5. 
276. 
277. 
273. 
279. 

2  SO. 
281. 
282. 
2S-3. 
2S4. 
285. 
2SG. 
2^7. 
288. 
289. 
290. 
291. 
292. 
293. 
294. 
295. 
296. 
297. 
298. 
299. 
300. 
301. 

302. 

303. 

r04. 
305. 

3  6. 
307. 
308. 

309. 
310. 
Sll. 
312. 

313. 
314. 
315. 
310. 
317. 
313. 
319. 
320. 
3:^1. 


323. 
324. 
325. 
326. 
327. 
323. 

329. 
330. 
331. 

3.32. 
333] 
3.34. 
335. 
330. 
337. 
338. 

339. 
340. 

341. 
342 

B43. 
314. 

315. 

340. 
347. 

iJiS. 
;;4J. 


PEICE 

Gilbert  Rugge.     By  the  Author  of  "  A  First 

Friendship" $1  00 

Sans  Jlerci.     By  Geo.  Lawrence 50 

Fhcmie  Keller,     liy  Mrs.  ,1.  H.  KiddeU 50 

Land  at  Last.     By  Edmund  Yates 50 

Felix  Holt,  the  Radical.     By  George  Eliot  ....  75 

Bound  to  tho  Wheel.     By  John  Snunders 75 

All  in  the  Dark.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 50 

Kissing  the  Rod.     By  Edmund  Yates 75 

The  Race  for  Wealth.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Riddell. .  75 
Lizzie  Lorton  of  Greyrigg.     By  Mrs.  E.  Lynn 

Linton 75 

The  Beauclercs,  I'ather  and  Son.     By  Clarke.  50 

Sir  Brooke  Fossbrooke.     By  Charles  Lever  ...  50 

Madonna  Mary.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 5 ) 

Cradock  Nowell.     By  R.  D.  Blackmore 75 

Bernthah     F>om  the  German  of  L.  Muhlbach.  50  < 

Rachel's  Secret 75 

The  Claveriugs.     Bv  Anthony  Trollope 50 

The  Village  on  the  Cliflf.     By  Miss  Thackeray.  25 

Played  Out.     By  Annie  Thomas 75 

Black  Sheep.     By  Edmund  Y'ates 50 

Sowing  the  Wind.     By  Mis.  E.  Lynn  Linton..  50 

Nora  and  Archibald  Lee 50 

Raymond's  Heioine 50 

Mr.  W'ynyard's  W^ard.     By  Holme  Lee 50 

Alec  Forbes  of  Howglen.    By  Mac  Donald 75 

No  Man's  Friend.     By  F.  'W.  Robinson 75 

Called  to  Account.     By  Annie  Thomas 50 

Caste 50 

The  Curate's  Discipline.     By  Mrs.  Eiloai  t 50 

Circe.     By  Babington  White 50 

The  Tenants  of  Maloiy.     By  J.  S.  Le  I'anu 50 

Carlyon's  Year.     By  the  Author  of  "Lost  Sir 

Maasingberd,"  &c 25 

The  Waterdale  Neighbors.     By  the  Author  of 

"Paul  Massie" 50 

Mabel's  Progress.     By  theAutliorof  "The  Sto- 

17  of  Aunt  Margaret's  'Irnuble" 50 

Guild  Court.     By  George  Mac  Donald 50 

The  Brothers'  Bet.     By  Emilie  llygare  Carlcn  25 

Playing  for  High  Stakes.     By  Annie  Thomas. .  50 

Margaret's  Engagement 50 

One  of  the  Family.     By  the  Author  of  "Car- 
lyon's Y'ear" 25 

Five  Hundred  Pounds  Reward.     By  a  Barrister  50 

Brownlows.     By  Mrs.  Olipliant i1 

Charlotte's  Inheritance.     By  M.  E.  Braddon  . .  60 
Jeannie's  Quiet  Life.     By  the  Author  of  "St. 

Olaves,"  &c 50 

Poor  Humanity.     By  V.  W.  Robinson 50 

Brakespeaie.     By  <>.  o.  Lawrence 50 

A  Lost  Name.     By  J.  Sheridan  Le  Fanu 50 

Love  or  Marriage  ?    By  AVilliam  Black 50 

Dead-Sea  Fruit.     By  M.  E.  Braddon 50 

The  Dower  House.     By  Annie  Thomas 50 

The  Bramleighs  of  Bishop's  Folly.     By  Lever.  50 

Mildred.     By  Georgiana  M.  Craik 50 

Nature's  Nobleman.     By  the  Author  of  "Ra- 
chel's Secret" 50 

Kathleen.    By  the  Author  of  "  Raymond's  He- 
roine"   50 

That  Boy  of  Norcott's.     By  Charles  Lever.....  25 

In  Silk  Attire.     By  W^  Black 50 

Hetty.     By  Henry  Kingsley 25 

False  Colors.     Bv  Annie  Thomas 50 

Meta's  I'aith.     By  the  .\uthor  of  "  St  Ol.avi  'f."  50 
Found  Dead.     By  ihe  Author  of  "Carlyou's 

Y^ar" 50 

Wrecked  in  Port.     By  Edmund  Y';ite.s 'M 

The  Minister's  Wife.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 75 

A  Beggar  on  Horseback.      By  the  Author  of 

"Carlyon's  Year" 50 

Kitty.     By  the  Authnr  of  "Doctor  Jacob"  ... .  50 

Only  Herself.     By  Annie  Thomas 50 

Hirell.     By  John  Saunders 50 

Under  Foot.     By  Alton  Clyde 50 

So  Runs  the  World  Away.    By  Mrs.  A.  C.  Steele.  50 

Baffled.     By  Julia  Godtlard 75 

Beneath  the  Wheels.    By  the  Author  of  "  Olive 

Varcoe" •0 

Stem  Necessity.     By  F.  W.  Robinson 50 

Gwendoline's  Harvest.    By  the  Author  of  "Car- 

Ivon's  Y'ear"    -'"^ 

Kilmeny.     By  W.  Black •'^''* 

John:   a  Love  Story.     By  Mif.  Oliphant 50 

True  to  Herself.    By  F.  W.  Robinson 50 

Veronica.     By  tho  Author  of  "Aunt  Margaret's 

Trouble" 5^ 

A  Dangerous  Guest.    By  the  Author  of  "  Gil- 
bert Rugge" S" 

Estelle  Rus.sell "^^ 

The  Heir  Expectant.    By  the  Author  of  ^  Ray- 
mond's Heroine" 50 

Whicii  is  the  Heroine"? 60 

The  Vivian  Romance.     By  Mortimer  Collins. .  50 

In  Duty  Bound.     Illustrated. 50 


By  the  Author  of  ^^John  Halifax." 


FAIR  FRANCE.     Impressions  of  a  Traveller.     i2mo,  Cloth,  %\  50. 

A  BRAVE  LADY.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  $1  00;  Cloth,  $1  50. 

THE   UNKIND    WORD,  and  Other  Stories.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

THE  WOMAN'S  KINGDOM.     A  Love  Story.    Profusely  Illustrated.    8vo, 
Paper,  $1  00;  Cloth,  $1  50. 

THE  TWO  MARRIAGES.     12 mo,  Cloth,  $1  50, 

A  NOBLE  LIFE.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

CHRISTIAN'S  MISTAKE.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

JOHN  HALIFAX,  GENTLEMAN    8vo,  Paper,  75  cents  ;  Library  Edition, 

i2mo.  Cloth,  $1  50. 
A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE.     Svo,  Paper,  50  cents;  Library  Edition,  i2mo,  Cloth, 

^i  5°- 
A  HERO,  and  Other  Talcs.     A  Hero,  Bread  upon  the  Waters,  and  Alice  Lear- 

mont.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

AGATHA'S  HUSBAND.     Svo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

AVILLION,  and  Other  Tales.     Svo,  Paper,  $1  25. 

OLIVE.     Svo,  Paper,  50  cents  ;  12 mo,  Cloth,  %\  50. 

THE  FAIRY  BOOK.     The  best  popular  Fairy  Stories  selected  and  rendered 
anew.     Engravings.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

THE  HEAD  OF  THE  FAMILY.     Svo,  Paper,  75  cents. 

MISTRESS  AND  MAID.     A  Household  Story.     Svo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

NOTHING  NE  W.     Tales.     Svo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

THE  OGILVIES.     Svo,  Paper,  50  cents;  i2mo.  Cloth,  $i  50. 

OUR   YEAR.     A  Child's  Book  in  Prose  and  Verse.     Illustrated  by  Clarence 
DoBELL.     i6mo.  Cloth,  Gilt  Edges,  %\  00. 

STUDIES  FROM  LIFE.     i2mo,  Cloth,  Gilt  Edges,  $125. 
A  FRENCH  COUNTRY  FAMILY.     Translated  from  the  French  of  Mad- 
ame De  Witt  {nee  Guizot).     Illustrated.     i2mo,  Cloth,  ,$i  50. 


Frotn  the  North  British  Review. 

MISS  MULOCK'S   NOVELS. 

She  attempts  to  show  how  the  trials,  perplexities,  joys,  sorrows,  labors,  and  successes  of  life  deepen  or  wither  the 
character  according  to  its  inward  bent. 

She  cares  to  teach,  not  how  dishonesty  is  always  plunging  men  into  infinitely  more  complicated  external  difficulties 
than  it  would  in  real  life,  but  how  any  continued  insincerity  gradually  darkens  and  corrupts  the  very  life-springs  of 
the  mind  ;  not  how  all  events  conspire  to  crush  an  unreal  being  who  is  to  be  the  "  example  "  of  the  story,  but  how 
every  event,  adverse  or  fortunate,  tends  to  strengthen  and  expand  a  high  mind,  and  to  break  the  springs  of  a  selfish 
or  merely  weak  and  self-indulgent  nature. 

She  does  not  limit  herself  to  domestic  conversations,  and  the  mere  shock  of  character  on  character  ;  she  includes  a 
large  range  of  events — the  influence  of  worldly  successes  and  failures — the  risks  of  commercial  enterprises— the  power 
of  social  position — in  short,  the  various  elements  of  a  wider  economy  than  tha't  generally  admitted  into  a  tale. 

She  has  a  true  respect  for  her  work,  and  never  permits  herself  to  "  make  books,"  and  yet  she  has  evidently  very 
great  facility  in  making  them. 

There  are  few  writers  who  liave  exhibited  a  more  marked  progress,  whether  in  freedom  of  touch  or  in  depth  of  pur- 
pose, than  the  authoress  of  "The  Ogilvies"  and  "John  Halifax." 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

'Harper  &  Brothers  will  send  the  above  works  by  mail,  postage  paid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  on 

receipt  «/  the  price. 


John  Esten  Cooke's  Novels. 


HENRY   ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN; 

Of  "  Flower   of  Hundreds,"  in   the   County  of  Prince    George,  Virginia. 
A  Tale  of  1774-75.     By  John  Esten  Cooke.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

This  charming  story  depicts  the  social  life  of  Vir-  ]  of  happy,  effective  touches.    The  characters  aud  ihc 
Siiiia  iu  the  time  of  Governor  Dunmore,  and  is  full  I  scenes  of  old  Virginia  are  finely  sketched. 

LEATHER  STOCKING  AND  SILK; 

Or,  Hunter  John  Meyers  and  his  Times.      A  Story  of  the  Valley  of  Vir- 
ginia.    By  John  Esten  Cooke.     12  mo.  Cloth,  $1  50. 


Without  a  trace  of  the  audacity  and  extravacrauce 
which  are  so  much  in  vogue  with  many  recent  Ameri- 
can writers  of  fiction,  this  unique  story  of  Virginia  life 
quietly  winds  its  way  to  the  heart  of  the  reader  by  its 


simple  touches  of  nature,  its  gentle  pathos,  aud  the 
admirable  harmony  and  fidelity  of  its  coloring.  The 
author  has  a  rare  perception  of  the  capacities  of  chur^ 
acter  for  dramatic  effect.— X  Y.  Tribune. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

""  Harper  &  Broth  irs  a////  send  either  of  the  above  novels  by  inail,  j>ostage  prepaid,  on  receipt  of*,i  50. 

Partisan   Life   with   Mosby. 

By  Major  John  Scott,  of  Fauquier,  Va.,  late  C.  S.  A.  With  a  Portrait  of 
Colonel  Mosby  on  Steel  engraved  by  Halpin,  also  one  by  Jewett,  and 
nearly  Fifty  Illustrations,  embracing  Portraits  of  Field  Officers  and  Cap- 
tains of  the  Battalion,  a  Map  of  Mosby's  Confederacy,  and  numerous  spir- 
ited Illustrations  of  Fights,  Raids,  and  Humorous  Incidents.  8vo,  Cloth, 
Beveled  Edges,  $3  50. 


This  work  is  the  history  of  the  Battalion  which,  un- 
der the  command  of  Col.  John  S.  Mosby,  achieved  so 
greiit  a  fame  in  the  Virginia  campaigns  of  1SG2,  'O.S, 
and  '64  It  has  been  prepared  for  publication  by  the 
express  sanction  of  Col.  Mosby,  and  has  the  patron- 
age and  co-operation  of  the  partisan  chief,  his  ofli- 
cers,  and  men. 

Partisan  warfare,  as  established  and  couducted  by 
Col.  Mosby  under  the  Partisan  Hanger  Law,  intro- 
duced a  novel  and  very  effective  instrument  of  de- 
fense against  the  march  of  invading  armies.  The  ex- 
planation of  this  system  afforded  by  the  author  was 
derived  from  Mosby  himself,  and  exhibits  the  partisan 
leader  in  his  true  aspect  as  the  co-operator  of  Lee. 

The  author  served  under  Mosby  during  the  memo- 
rable campaigns,  and  is  a  native  of  that  portion  of 
Virginia  which  was  the  scene  of  the  principal  opera- 
tions of  the  Battalion.  His  material  is  drawn  not 
only  from  the  actors  in  the  strange  history,  but  many 
a  thrilling  and  many  a  humorous  incident  has  bceu 
derived  from  spectators  of  the  fierce  drama.  The  im- 
partiality of  history  has  been  preserved,  and  the  gen- 
erous acts  or  heroic  exploits  of  Mosby's  opponents 
have  been  frankly  related. 


The  women  of  that  region  were  often  connected 
with  "Mosb;, '-  men,"  sometimes  as  actors  aud  some- 
times as  spect.-itors.  They  appear  iu  this  volume  un- 
der their  own  name",  aud  the  important  part  they 
acted  in  these  strange  scenes  is  fully  recorded.  "With 
this  feature  omitted,"  remarks  the  author,  "it  would 
be  impossible  to  draw  a  truthful  picture  of  the  stir- 
ring aud  memorable  scenes  of  which  I  treat.  It  v,-ill 
impart  to  much  of  the  narrative  the  high  coloring  of 
romance,  for  Love,  with  its  enchantments,  is  ever 
ready  to  attend  upon  War." 

The  skill  and  prowess  of  the  ofl[icers  and  men  ur,-]o;- 
Mosby  is  related  with  every  particularity  of  detail, 
and  the  work  affords  not  only  a  complete  and  ex- 
haustive record  of  the  achievements  of  the  famons 
Battalion,  but  also  au  inside  view  of  social  life  amcnig 
the  partisan?,  showing  how  they  lived  by  "boarding 
round"  when  oft"  duty,  how  they  amused  themselves 
in  camp  and  on  the  march,  and  how  they  loved  as  well 
as  how  they  fought.  Hundreds  of  anecdotes  and  in- 
cident=,  nearly  fifty  engravings  and  portraits,  aud  a 
map  of  "Mosby's  Confederacy,"  illustrate  and  be;iu- 
tify  the  volume. 


Published  ey  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 


Harper  &  Brothers  will  send  the  above  zuorh  by  tnail,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  $1  50. 


HARPER'S  WEEKLY  FOR  1864. 


With  the  opening  of  the  year  was  commenced  the  Eighth  Volume  of  HARPER'S  "WEEK- 
LY, an  Illustrated  Family  Newspapei-,  devoted  to  Art,  Literature,  Popular  Information,  and 
Politics. 

The  general  aim  and  scope  of  this  paper  are  too  well  known  to  require  special  explanation. 
In  politics  it  will  continue  to  advocate  the  National  Cause,  wholly  irrespective  of  mere  party 
grounds.  Whatever  Administration  honestly  endeavors  to  put  down  the  present  Rebellion  and 
to  restore  the  Union,  will  so  far  receive  the  cordial  support  of  the  Weekly.  Ample  j^rovisions 
have  been  made  to  maintain  the  Artistic  and  Literary  Departments  of  the  paper. 

Harpek's  Weekly  has  regular  Artist  Correspondents  with  every  great  Division  of  our  Army, 
who  will  furnish  sketches  of  every  incident  of  importance  in  the  War.  The  Conductors  are, 
moreover,  in  daily  receipt^  valuable  sketches  from  Volunteer  Correspondents  in  the  Army  and 
Navy  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  The  Publishei"s  will  gladly  welcome  such  sketches  from  mem- 
bers of  our  forces  in  every  section,  and  will  pay  liberally  for  such  as  they  may  use.  The  Weekly 
has  already  contained  more  than  Sixteen  Hundred  Illustrations  of  the  War,  and  the  Proprietors 
are  warranted  in  promising  that  the  successive  numbers  will  embody  a  thorough  and  exh'austive 
Illustrated  History  of  the  War,  in  its  current  phases^ 


From  The   Methodist,  a  Weel-lj/  Religious  Newspaper :  Rev.  Geo.  R.  Crooks,  D.D.,  Editor; 
Rev.  J.  M'Clintock,  D.D.,  Corresponding  Editor. 


IIakpeb'8  Weekly This  periodical  merits  special  no- 
tice at  tlie  present  time;  There  is  probably  no  weekly 
publication  of  the  country  that  equals  its  influence.  More 
tlian  one  liundred  thousand  copies  fly  over  the  land  weeli- 
ly ;  tliey  are  read  in  our  cars,  steamboats,  and  families. 
Our  youth  aspecially  read  them,  and  as  ilie  family  news- 
paper of  tlie  nation  its  power  over  the  forming  opinions  of 
the  next  generation  of  the  American  people  is  an  import 
taut  item. 

It  is  abundant,  If  not  superabundant,  in  pictoi-ial  illus- 
trations— a  means  of  strong  impression,  especially  on  the 
minds  of  the  young.  Botli  by  its  illustrations  and  its  in- 
cessant discussion  of  the  occurrences  and  questions  of  the 
war  it  is  a  "current  history"  and  "running  commenta- 
ry" on  the  great  event,  and  there  is  probably  no  literary 
agency  of  the  day  more  efftctive  in  its  influence  respect- 
ing the  war  in  the  families  of  the  common  people.  Most 
happy  are  we  then  to  be  able  to  say  that  tliis  responsible 
power  is  exerted  altogethei-  on  the  side  of  loyalty.  No  pa- 
per in  the  land  is  more  outspoken,  more  uncompromising 
for  the  Union,  for  the  war,  for  even  the  policy  of  the  Pres- 
ident's "great  Proclamation."  When  the  rebellion  broke 
out  we  did  the  publishers  the  injustice  of  some  anx'ous 
fears  about  their  probable  course  on  tlie  subject. 


Steadily  have  they  kept  up  with  the  Providential  de- 
velopment of  its  events  and  questions ;  not  only  abreast 
of  tliem,  but,  in  inipartant  respects,  ahead  of  them.  No 
psriodical  press  in  the  nation  deserves  better  of  the  coun- 
try for  its  iaithfulness  and  "  pluck"  in  all  matters  i-elating 
to  the  great  struggle.  And  we  sliould  do  it  injustice  were 
we  not  to  add  that,  with  its  outright  loyalty  and  bravery, 
it  combines  commanding  ability.  The  editorial  leaders 
which  it  continuously  flings  out  against  all  political  trait- 
ors and  flunkies  strike  dirtctly  at  their  mark.  They  are 
evidently  fi'om  pens  both  strong  and  polished.  On  even 
the  astuter  subjects  of  policy,  finance,  &c.,  it  is  eminent- 
ly able.  And  it  makes  no  mistake  in  supposing  its  read- 
ers capable  of  an  interest  and  of  intelligence  iu  these  re- 
spects. American  families  look  keenly  into  such  ques- 
tions, and  with  such  a  really  educational  force  as  this  pa- 
per wields,  it  is  especially  right  aud  commendable  that  it 
seeks  to  elevate  the  common  mind  to  the  higher  iiuestions 
of  the  times.  The  Amtrican  people  will  not  fail  to  notice 
and  to  remember  the  courageous  and  patriotic  course  of 
Harper's  Weekli/  in  these  dark  times  of  hideous  treason, 
and  of  more  hideous,  because  more  contemptible,  semi- 
treason. 


TERMS. 

One  Copy  for  One  Year $3  00 

Two  Copies  for  One  Year 5  00 

"Harper's  Weekly"  and  "Harper's  Magazine"  one  year  .     5  00 

An  Extra  Copy  of  either  the  Weekl'i  or  Magazine  will  he  supplied  fjrati»for  every  Club  of  Ten  S0iiSouiBEn8, 
at  $2  5D  each;  or.  Eleven  Copies  for  $-5  00. 

Volumes  I.,  11.,  III.,  IV.,  V.,  VI.,  and  VII.,  of  Habpeb's  WEEKr.y,  bandsonii  ^  bound  in  Cloth  extra,  Price 
$5  00  each,  are  now  ready. 

Muslin  Covers  are  furnished  to  those  who  wish  their  Numbers  bound,  at  Fifty  Cents  each; 

*,*  To  T'o-itmastera  and  Agents  getting  np  a  Club  of  Ten  Subscribers,  a  Copy  will  be  sent  gratis.  Subsciiptions 
may  commfnce  with  any  Number.     iSptcimen  Numbers  gratuitously  supplied. 

|Ji?~  Clergymen  and  Teachers  supplied  at  $2  ."JO  a. year. 

A  s  Hakpkii'b  Wkeiclv  is  elech-oti/pecl,  lumbers  can  be  supplied  from  the  eommencement. 

The  Publishers  will  send  ITarj)er\i  Weekly  free  to  any  Regiment  or  Sliip  of  Waf  which  may  supply  them  with 
the  name  and  address  of  the  officer  to  whom  it  should  be  forwarded. 

ItAnrKR'a  Weekly  is  probably  read  in  more  liouseholds  than  any  other  American  weekly  publication.  It  is  there- 
fore the  bept  advertising  medium  in  the  country.  Only  a  limited  space  is  devoted  to  advertisements.  The  price  for 
the  insertion  of  advertisements  is  seventy-five  cents  per  line,  except  for  the  last  page,  for  which  the  rate  is  One  Dol- 
lar per  line. 


Franklin  Square,  New  York,  Mb.  1,  1864. 


Harperh  Magazine  foi^  February.  \ 

It  has  from  the  outset  been  the  aim  of  the  publishers  of  Harper's  Neav  Monthly 
Magazine  to  furnish  a  periodical  containing^o  great  an  amount  of  matter  in  every 
department  of  literature,  presented  in  a  form  so  attractive,  and  at  a  price  so  moder- 
ate;, that  it  should  be  indispensable  to  every  cultivated  American  reader. 

The  Magazine  has  contained  several  of  the  best  Serial  Novels  of  Bnhver,  Dickens, 
Thackeray,  Lever,  TroUope,  Reade,  Miss  Evans,  and  Miss  Mulock,  besides  Essays, 
Tales,  and  Poems  from  the  foremost  American  and  Britisli  v.'riters. 

Historical  and  Biographical  Papers,  especially  those  relating  to  American  subjects, 
have  formed  a  distinctive  featm'e  of  the  Magazine.  These  paj^ers  alone,  if  published 
separately,  would  cf)st  more  than  the  price  of  the  Magazine. 

The  results  of  the  Explorations  and  Adventures  of  the  most  distinguished  travelers 
have  been  presented  in  careful  abstracts. 

The  Editorial  Departments  comprise  a  careful  summary  of  the  history  of  the  times, 
comments  upon  the  current  topics  of  thought  and  remark,  and  an  immense  collection 
of  anecdotes  and  facetia?,  furnished  by  hundreds  of  voluntary  correspondents. 

Wherever  Pictorial  Illustrations  could  add  to  the  value  or  interest  of  an  article  they 
have  been  freely  used.  The  Magazine  has  contained  nearly  nine  thousand  engravings, 
executed  in  the  best  style  of  the  art. 

The  result  of  the  enterprise  has  exceeded  the  highest  anticipations  of  the  Publishers. 
The  Magazine  gained  at  once  the  foremost  place  among  American  periodicals ;  and  its 
circulation  has  for  years  exceeded,  as  it  now  exceeds,  that  of  all  other  periodicals  of  its 
class  issued  in  the  United  States.  No  effort  or  cost  will  be  spared  by  the  Publishers 
to  insure  that  the  Magazine  shall  maintain  the  position  which  it  has  won. 


The  Postagre  Law. 


Tlie  Twenty-seven  Volumes  of  the  Magazine  contain  matter  equivalent  to  more  than  two  hundred  duo- 
'  decimo  volumes.  Most  of  this  is  of  permanent  value.  A  complete  set  of  the  Magazine  will  tlierefore  be 
I  a  desirable  acquisition  to  any  private,  public,  or  school  library.  The  Publishers  will  furnish  these  in 
\  sets,  neatly  bound  in  Cldth,  for  One  Dollar  and  Eighty-Eight  Cents  per  Volume — $50  76  for  the  whole, 
!  nettXDash,  the  freight  to  be  paid  by  the  purchaser.  The  same  amount  of  matter,  with  an  equal  number 
■  of  illustrations,  issued  in  ordinary  volumes,  would  cost  more  than  Three  Hundred  Dollars.  Any  single 
!  volume  will  be  sent  by  mail,  post-paid,  to  any  place  in  the  United  States  within  1500  miles  from  New 
I  York,  for  Two  Dollars  and  Fifty  Cents ;  or  any  single  Number  for  Twenty-five  Cents. 


IIabper'8  Magazine  is  charged  24  CenU  a  year,  instead  of  3G  cents,  as  heretofore :  Postage  to  be  paid  in  advance,  yearly, 
semi-yearly,  or  quarterly. — {Section  36.) 

Harper's  Weekly  is  charged  20  Cents  a  year,  instead  of  26  cents,  as  heretofore :  Postage  to  be  paid  in  advance,  yearly, 
serai-yearly,  or  quarterly (Section  35.) 

Haepek's  Pictorial  Histobt  of  the  Rebei.lio.n  is  charged  2  Cents  a  number,  instead  of  3  cents,  as  heretofore. — (Sec- 
tion 26,)  ^ 

Xews  Dealers  may  receive  their  packaj^es  at  the  same  rates  pro  rata  as  are  paid  by  subscribers :  That  is,  at  the  rate  of 

20  Ceiitx  for  52  copies  of  the  Weekly,  and  2  Cents  for  each  copy  of  the  Magazine,  and  may  pay  separately  for  each       f|), 
pack.ige  when  received. — (Section  36.)  Ji 

Masuscbipts  and  Proofs  passing^bctwcen  Authors  and  Publishers  are  charged  as  Printed  Matter  (one  half  Cent  per 
ounci),  instead  of  as  Letters  (6  cents  an  ounce),  as  heretofore (Sections  24  and  34.) 


TERMS.— One  Copy  for  One  Year,  $3  00;  Two  Copies  for  One  Year,  $5  00;  "Harper's  Magazine"  and  "Habpeu's 

;.KLY,"  One  Year,  $5  00.    And  an  Extra  Copy,  gratis,  for  every  Club  of  Ten  Suusoribebs,  at  $2  50  each;  or,  11  Copies 

525. 

Clergymen  and  Teachers  supplied  at  $2  50  a  yar.     The  Semi-Annnal  Volumes  bound  in  Cloth,  $2  50  per  volume. 

I'm  Covers,  25  cents  each,  Sett:  when  ordered  to  Lj  sent  by  Mail,  Hight  Cents  additional  mtist  be  ^-emitted  for  2J0Stage. 


^^^^ 


FEB 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  LOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 

4   1-4. 


5  - 1962 


rormL-9 

10m -3, '39(7752) 


UNTVERSITY  OF  CALIFORKii 


LOS  ^NGELES 
HBRARY 


PR 

U317 
H66f 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  369  857    8 


